


Why Should the Fire Die

by mydeira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 46,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles is in need of an artifact and finds help from the least likely person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [1BC09](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/35879) by Sadbhyl. 



> Originally posted on my LiveJournal and at the watchersdiaries community starting on August 24, 2005. It was really no great shock, then or now, that the art piece I picked as inspiration for this piece was created by Sadbhyl. One of many, many, many things that led us to refer to our combined powers as "The Brain".
> 
> Written for the Art-a-thon Reversed Challenge at watchersdiaries. 
> 
> Thank you to sadbhyl for the inspiring artwork as well as the spit and polish that makes this shine so well. Oh and helping me find a title, with a little help from Nickel Creek and WXPN.

“Karl, you’ve had three months, and you’re telling me you haven’t been able to turn up so much as a lead as to where you might possibly find my decoder?” Giles leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in frustration. His glasses lay on his desk, nearly buried by the papers scattered across it.  
  
“I’m ssssorry, Rupert,” Karl’s voice hissed through the speakerphone. “I tried, I really did. But it’ssss not eassssy assss it once wassss. Esssspecially after the M-kefli rebellion lasssst year. They’re conssssidered holy relicssss now.”   
  
“Which was why I came to you in the first place, Karl,” Giles said pointedly.  
  
“There’ssss nothing I can do. Wassss there anything elsssse you needed?” the Syloth demon asked hopefully.  
  
“No, that’s all, Karl.” He hit the disconnect button without looking.  
  
Nearly an entire year of his life wasted, all because he couldn’t get his hands on a Basheer Medallion, an item that until the M-kefli rebellion had been as easy to find as a Starbucks in the city. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized he needed the medallion until well into his sixth month of research, when he happened upon three lines of text that had since been the bane of his existence. Without the medallion, the lines couldn’t be translated. And without those three lines, everything else was worthless. Not that he had given up trying to suss it out by other means, but without the Basheer Medallion, it was really just a waste of time.  
  
The only silver lining of the whole affair was the fact that this research was his own personal pursuit and had no bearing on the fate of the world, as far as he could see. Not that it made the hold up any less infuriating.  
  
Regardless of the setbacks inherent in his research, Giles was happy to have the time to actually devote to his own interests for once.   
  
Well into its second year of operation, the new Watchers Council was running fairly smoothly. There were enough people now who knew what they were about that Giles didn’t have to be personally involved in every single aspect of things. When Buffy had become more actively involved last summer, he had gained even more leisure time. He was still needed, but not so desperately as in the beginning.  
  
It also helped that life had gone on relatively apocalypse-free since the defeat of the First, aside from Angel’s trouble in L.A. Which meant that they were due for something, but until that happened, he was going to enjoy the quiet while he could, set-backs and all.  
  
  
Sitting up, he looked around his office in disgust. Maybe a few hours away would help clear his mind. Not that it would do much good without the medallion. Still, it couldn’t hurt any.  
  
Giles rose and went to the coat rack, throwing on his black wool overcoat, then headed out to the outer office, only to be stopped by a bright, perky inquiry.  
  
“Going out, boss?” Harmony Kendall beamed at him.  
  
What on earth had ever possessed him to hire the girl was beyond him. The fact that she came highly recommended from Angel should have been enough to deter him. But she knew what she was about, Giles had to give her credit. Efficient and highly organized, Harmony had been another factor in helping free up his time.  
  
“Yes, I am. I should be back in plenty of time for my four o’clock conference call with Xander and Willow,” he informed her, continuing on his way.  
  
“Hey, Giles?” she said, uncertainly. “I don’t want you to think I was eavesdropping, but you know, vampire hearing, kinda hard not to.”  
  
Giles took a deep breath and turned back to her, attempting to keep his voice as even as possible despite his growing frustration. “What is it, Harmony?”  
  
“Still no luck finding that medallion thingy, huh?” she inquired, shuffling through the papers on her desk. “I might be able to help you with that.”   
  
“Help me how, exactly?”  
  
“See, there’s this guy down in the south end, real fancy place and not usually my style. But anyway, I was having trouble finding this one unicorn for my collection, it’s made by a tiny demon community in Belize, and that guy found in for me in no time at all.”  
  
“Harmony, I hardly think that he—”  
  
She cut him off. “Trust me, Giles, if anyone can find what you’re looking for, he can.”  
  
“Does this man have a name?”  
  
“Actually, just one second.” She began to rummage through her purse and pulled out a business card. “Spencer Charles. Here, you can take this if you want.”  
  
He took the card from her, simple and understated gold script on a beige background. It couldn’t hurt to check out what Spencer Charles, Antiquarian had to offer.  
  
“Thank you, Harmony,” he said, giving her a small smile as he left.  
  
The moment he set foot outside, Giles realized that staying in his office might not have been such a bad idea after all. It was on days like these that he almost missed Sunnydale. Oppressive grey skies and a fine, cold drizzle that wouldn’t let up . . . it was depressing. And to think that he had spent most of his life not knowing or caring for any different. Yes, a bit of sunshine was almost worth living on the Hellmouth.  
  
Giles pulled the black wool a little tighter as he hailed a taxi. While Charles’ shop wasn’t located all that far from the Council, Giles really didn’t care to be out in the miserable weather any longer than he had to. And if things didn’t pan out, there was a decent pub in the neighborhood that he could spend a few hours at.   
  
  
  
Without the address, Giles doubted he ever would have found the place. It would be easy enough to miss, tightly tucked away between two larger and more imposing buildings almost as if it were trying to avoid too much notice by disappearing between the bulk of its neighbors.   
  
The bell over the door chimed, announcing his presence as he entered the shop.   
  
“Good afternoon, and how are you this fine day?” a bird-like, grandmotherly woman greeted him from the candlestick display she was presently dusting.  
  
“As well as one can be in this the weather,” he replied, letting his eyes trail over the various objects on the shop floor. At first glance, it appeared to be the usual antique shop fare—candelabra, intricately carved chairs, tarnished frames, worn end-tables—until one looked a bit closer and realized that the armrests on the chair weren’t dragons but instead Glynyck demons. However, the untrained eye wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  
  
“That’s nothing a spot of hot tea won’t fix,” she advised him sagely. “Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?”  
  
“Actually, there is.” He hesitated. While Giles tried not to pass snap judgments on people, he doubted the woman would know the first thing about cryptographic keys, let alone anything Basheerian in origin.  
  
Seeming to read his thoughts, she hurried to reassure him. “It’s one of those specialty items, isn’t it? I just tend to the regular customers and keep things tidy for Mr. Charles. You’ll be wanting to speak to him, I wager?”  
  
“Before I do that, ma’am—”  
  
“Eloise, please.” She corrected pleasantly.  
  
“Eloise.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “My secretary referred me here, saying that Mr. Charles helped her find a rare collectable, a unicorn. Which is all well and good, but what I’m looking for is of a different nature entirely. More occult, if you will.”  
  
“Why, that’s his specialty! He wasn’t all that eager to scour the globe for that young lady’s item. A Miss Harmony, isn’t it? Charming girl, as I remember. But getting back to Mr. Charles,” she returned from the brief tangent, “he’s not really one to go looking for collectibles, but business is business, after all.”  
  
Somewhere in Eloise’s answer, Giles thought he heard something to the affirmative, but he wasn’t quite certain. In any event, there wouldn’t be any harm in talking with this Mr. Spencer and seeing what he could do.  
  
“Would it be possible to meet with Mr. Charles today? If not, I can leave my card.”  
  
“You’ll be doing nothing of the sort. Mr. Charles would be more than happy to see you,” Eloise said. “I just need to go track him down in the back. It will only take me a moment. Feel free to look around.”  
  
Permission given, Eloise and her dust cloth disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Giles to his own devices.  
  
Taking full advantage of the time alone, he went to have a closer look at some of the items. Prices were high, but not unreasonable. And several items on the floor were very difficult to find, which spoke well for the proprietor’s abilities.  
  
He was bent over a glass case, carefully studying the flatware that claimed to be Zybrk’n in origin, when the proprietor joined him.   
  
“You’ll have trouble finding fifth dynasty like that in any better condition.”  
  
The low, rich, smooth tones caught him off guard. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear than when he turned around he would find—but that was ridiculous. Just an auditory hallucination.  
  
Steeling himself just in case, Giles faced the proprietor.  
  
The man wore a simple suit of light brown tweed, nicely made but far from high end. Respectable, comforting, unassuming—part of the reason why the material had been so popular with the old Council. The suit along with the longish, casual hair style the man wore reminded Giles of a university professor. It worked very well with the surroundings.   
  
“Spencer, I presume?” Giles asked, trying to control the edge in his voice.  
  
“Hello, Ripper,” Spencer Charles, nee Ethan Rayne, greeted him.


	2. Chapter Two

This wasn’t where this was supposed to happen. A dark alley, or perhaps an abandoned roadway, far away from curious ears and witnesses of any kind. Not here in his drab store. Not now when he wasn’t ready, hadn’t expected . . .  
  
“Hello, Ripper,” Ethan greeted his former friend, throwing in the proper amount of lightness to cover his disconcertion. “I must say, this is an unexpected . . . pleasure.”  
  
Rupert’s eyes narrowed. “I thought even you would be smart enough not to try something like this again.”  
  
“Running a successful antiquities and rare items procurement business? Yes, I must be quite daft.” He smirked, gaining his bearings as Rupert seemed to lose his.  
  
“What’s your game, Ethan?”  
  
“Profit, my friend, pure and simple. Enough to put a roof over my head and food on the table,” Ethan replied easily. “And if you don’t believe me, I have a lease and three years’ worth of tax returns to back me up. I can get them for you if you like.”   
  
Ripper wasn’t quite sure how to handle that. Good. Ethan would take any advantage he could get.  
  
“Though why I need to explain myself when you came into my shop, I really don’t know,” he finished pleasantly. “Now then, Eloise informs me that you need help locating an item?”  
  
“I . . .” Rupert paused, seeming to consider his options.   
  
“Do get off your high horse, Rupert,” he said, exasperation briefly creeping into his voice. “I know you have some pretty good contacts. So if they haven’t turned up anything, it must be difficult to find. But as luck would have it, that’s my specialty.”  
  
Ethan caught what sounded like, “Luck, my arse,” as Rupert studied him warily. “I’m trying to locate a Basheer Medallion,” he said finally.  
  
It took some effort to keep his surprise from showing, but Ethan managed. Of all the possible items Rupert could want . . . Maybe meeting now wasn’t so bad after all.   
  
He made his way back to the sales counter and pulled out a heavy binder. Flipping through the pages, he asked a question he already knew the answer to. “Are you certain it’s a Basheer Medallion you need? In many instances a Machvelan will work just as well. And it is far easier to come by.”  
  
“What do you think?” Rupert returned in irritation, slowly approaching the counter.  
  
“I wouldn’t want to you to pay a fortune for something you don’t need.” Ethan flashed him a quick, innocent smile as he continued to page through the binder. “A small fortune, at least.”  
  
“I’m well aware of the market value of the medallion, Ethan. What I need to know is if you can get me one or not.”  
  
Ethan closed the book with a snap. “Give me one week.”  
  
Rupert blinked. “You’re telling me that you can get me in one week what my usual dealer couldn’t find in four months?” There was a note of wariness in his voice when he spoke.  
  
“One week,” he repeated. “Full payment expected upon receipt of item. Market value plus twenty percent.”  
  
“Ten.”  
  
“No bargaining on this, mate,” Ethan said simply. “Item like this, I normally charge thirty.”  
  
“And you’re giving me a deal because we’re friends?” Rupert asked sardonically.  
  
“I thought you made it very clear that we aren’t friends, Rupert,” he pointed out, unable to control the edge of bitterness that crept into his voice. “If you must know, I happen to know where I can procure the Basheer Medallion quite readily. No research or major footwork on my part brings the price down. It’s fair business practice, after all.”  
  
The man didn’t seem to know how to respond. He put his hands in his coat pocket and shifted uncomfortably. “A week from today then?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Right then. Oh,” he fumbled in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a card, setting it on the counter. “In case there are any problems.”  
  
“There won’t be.” Ethan forced another smile, picking up the card. “Still at the same location, I see.”  
  
Rupert nodded. “Until next week.”  
  
Long after he left, Ethan found himself still staring at the door. It wasn’t what he had planned, but plans were meant to be changed. And if Rupert needed a Basheer Medallion, no substitutes, things might finally be looking up. There were very few things that a Basheer Medallion could translate that a Machvellan couldn’t, was the same passage Ethan himself had spent the last five years tracking down.  
  
As for the week he had told Rupert it would take to obtain the medallion, that was a bit of a lie on Ethan’s part. The truth was that he had one safely stored back at his apartment.


	3. Chapter Three

“Well?” Harmony asked him when he returned to the office that afternoon.  
  
“He said he could get it for me in a week,” Giles replied, frowning as he looked over his messages.  
  
“Bet you’re really glad you hired me now, huh, Giles?” she said happily.  
  
“How about we wait until I have the Medallion in my hands first.” He tried not to make the words sound too harsh.   
  
“No worries there. If Spencer Charles says he can get it for you in a week, he’ll get it. Oh, did you meet Eloise? Isn’t she the sweetest?”  
  
“Harmony, if you could hold my calls for the rest of the afternoon, I would appreciate it,” he requested, heading into his office before Harmony could hold him up longer.  
  
“Sure thing, boss. Glad I could—” and the rest was silence as the solid oak door shut behind him.  
  
“Ethan Rayne,” he said the name as if it were an epithet.  
  
What surprised Giles most about the encounter wasn’t the fact that Ethan seemed to be running a fairly legitimate business, though that was quite shocking in its own right, but that it had been so long since he last seen Ethan. It had been, what, five years since they dealt with the Initiative? Since Randall’s death, Ethan never had never gone more than a year or two without doing something to remind Giles that he was still around. Truth be told, Giles had half expected to run into the man when he had left Sunnydale following Buffy’s resurrection. It would have been a situation his old friend would have reveled in—cornering Giles when he was out of touch with his surrogate family and trying to figure out what to do with his life. Much the same situation he had been in when Ethan turned him into a Fyarl.  
  
More than anything, he was curious as to what Ethan had been up to the last few years. Generally, the longer Ethan stayed away, the worse things were when he turned up again.  
  
Not bothering to remove his overcoat, Giles made his way over to his desk.  
  
He picked up the phone, dialing a string of digits that led him to the direct line of an ex-watcher currently working for the NSA.  
  
Of course, there was always the possibility that Ethan wasn’t up to anything and had decided to turn over a new leaf.  
  
“Right, and I’ll be going on tour with the Stones next summer.” He gave a short laugh just as the phone connected.  
  
“Daniels,” the curt voice answered.  
  
“Trevor? It’s Rupert.”  
  
He could almost feel the man relax on the other end. “Christ, man, you don’t know how good it is to hear a familiar voice.”  
  
“The U.S. still being a pain in the arse?” he inquired lightly.  
  
“One wild bleeding terrorist cell goose chase after another. You aren’t by any chance calling to offer me that job again, are you?”  
  
“Told you, mate, it’s always here when you want it. Can’t promise as good benefits, though.”  
  
“I’m to the point I might be willing to trade down,” Trevor sighed. “But on a lighter note, Alexandria is pregnant with twins.”  
  
“So you’re to be a granddad at last. Congratulations, Trevor. How’s Muriel taking it?”  
  
“Says it makes her feel old, but otherwise she’s ecstatic.”  
  
It was certainly something that made one feel their age. It seemed like yesterday when Trevor brought Alexandria by the Council for the first time. Muriel and his daughter were the reasons Trevor had left in the first place. The Council had always seen family as a liability to be severely discouraged, though Quentin Travers had made himself the exception. Not that the NSA was much better, but it did allow Trevor a bit more free time to spend with his family and, indeed, the health benefits were considerably better.  
  
“While it’s great to hear from you, Rupert, I have a feeling this isn’t a social call, is it?” Trevor said, his voice still amiable.  
  
“Nothing apocalyptic. Just a personal favor, if you have a moment or two to spare. I was wondering what you could find out for me as to the whereabouts of Ethan Rayne for the last five years or so?”  
  
“Rayne? Just general whereabouts?” Trevor inquired as if writing the information down. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking to find?”  
  
“Nothing specific,” Giles replied honestly. “Actually, now that you mention it, see what you can turn up on a Spencer Charles, Antiquarian.”  
  
“Will do. I’ll be in touch.”  
  
“Thanks, mate.”  
  
Giles sat in silence long afterward, trying to figure out just what Ethan was up to. Because he was always up to something. Always.  
  
And with any luck, he would have the answer by the time he went to get his Basheer Medallion.


	4. Chapter Four

“Now, Mr. Rayne, you just sit tight, this will be over in no time at all.”  
  
Ethan found Lt. Foster the most irritating of the lot. She had the demeanor and the look of a sixteen year old candy striper, her voice full of sunshine and her hair the color of autumn. And she was quite possibly the most sadistic member of the Initiative, which was no small feat.  
  
As she stepped back, he steeled himself for the electric current that would soon follow. After a month of daily sessions with the electro-shock machine, he had almost gotten used to the spine-numbing current that skittered through his nerves, wiping all thoughts from his mind except white hot, razor sharp pain. Not that Ethan was usually opposed to a bit of pain every now and then, but this was something entirely different. It was physical and more. He couldn’t say exactly what the more was, but he really didn’t care for it.  
  
So when Lt. Foster pushed the button and nothing happened, Ethan tried very hard to reign in his relief. Maybe for once their bloody machines wouldn’t be so damn reliable.  
  
And then he felt it, subtle at first, but gradually the sensation grew more and more noticeable. It was as if he were being very slowly pulled apart. But not limb from limb as they used to do in more barbaric times, but on the molecular level, as if the cohesion between each molecule and atom was being obliterated cell by cell. The strangest thing of all was that there was hardly any pain to it, just a deep abiding feeling that something wasn’t right.  
  
Then it was suddenly over. Lt. Foster pulled out her pocket computer, smiling at him expectantly.  
  
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked pleasantly.  
  
“It was different,” he replied neutrally. “Care to tell me what that was? Or is that classified?”  
  
“Nuclear de-ionizer,” she informed him, her voice never changing. “And from your lack of screaming, less painful than the usual treatments, I suspect.”  
  
Ethan shifted in his restraints, the wires and needles vibrating with the minor movement.  
  
“Now if you would just do one of those little spells you’re so fond of, we’ll be all done for the day.”  
  
“So I can be shocked like Pavlov’s naughty dog? Thank you, lieutenant, but I’ll pass today.”  
  
“Come on, Mr. Rayne, just a tiny one,” she wheedled. “No shocking, I promise.”   
  
That should have warned him that something was amiss, but he had been there more than a year, as far as he could tell, and in that time, his reactions and instincts had dulled somewhat. Most of his effort went into staying sane, getting through the day, and clinging to the ever fainter hope that he would eventually be free of them.   
  
“Unless you’d rather go back to the electroshock. I can oblige if that is your desire,” she said when he took too long to respond.  
  
It made him feel like a dog rolling over for a stale bone, but he’d learned that he had little choice but to do what they said. He used to resist them, but found that his continued survival was dependent upon at least minimal obedience. And as bad as things got down here, he wasn’t quite ready to die. Yet.  
  
Tempted as he was to try something that might gain his freedom, Ethan wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know how, but the Initiative had ways of countering his more complex spells. Right, levitation, that was simple enough. He used it frequently in his cell to keep himself occupied.  
  
Scanning the tiny, grey space, he finally located something not bolted down or held by the fair lieutenant. He focused upon the small, green notebook, concentrating his energy and the energy in the vicinity of the notebook upon lifting the object. But nothing happened. Usually he could feel the currents shift as they bent to his will. Nothing. This was something that had come to him as naturally as breathing since he was thirteen. And now the only thing happening was that his eyes were beginning to water with the strain.  
  
The realization of why the notebook remained stubbornly where it was hit him with sudden, blinding clarity. The energy that had coursed through his veins for so long was suddenly no longer there. Gone, like it had never even been there.  
  
“Excellent, Mr. Rayne,” she complimented him, sounding extremely pleased. “I’ll see you the same time tomorrow.”  
  
  
  
Ethan woke up in a cold sweat, not knowing where he was.  
  
But as his breathing slowed and the darkness took on familiar forms, he realized he was in his own bed, tangled in eight hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets that had no idea bleach existed. That more than anything else brought him fully back to his senses. Just a dream. He had had them before, would have them again. He just wished one of these times it would be someone other than Lt. Foster. But in reality it had only ever been Lt. Foster, and Lt. Foster it would remain in his dreams.  
  
He glanced at his clock. 3:38 AM, it informed him in neon green numerals. There would be no more sleep for him tonight. Oh, he could try, but rarely after these dreams could he fall back to sleep. Didn’t want to, for that matter. Too much risk that the dreams would pick up right where they left off. After three and a half years, he had expected the intensity of the dreams to fade somewhat. But they remained as vivid as ever. Most likely due to the fact they weren’t dreams so much as memories that refused to be forgotten.   
  
Crawling out of bed, he threw on his robe and made his way toward the living room, blinding himself momentarily as he switched on the lamp. He walked over to his Mondrian, flipping it away from the wall to reveal the built-in safe. Clichéd and predictable, but it worked. After he the right sequence of digits, the lock released. He removed a long, thin, legal-sized box and carried it over to the coffee table. Inside lay a flat, silver circle, approximately the size of a man’s fist, archaic symbols interwoven throughout the piece. When they had been more abundant, the Basheer Medallions had been quite popular as decorative coasters, a set of which this had been part of until Ethan sold off its mates when the prices became astronomical. There was no reason not to make profit off the other three when only one was needed. Mass production could be a godsend sometimes, and the returns had bought him this very nice loft.  
  
The funny thing was, Ethan had only retained the one piece on a whim. He hadn’t seen a use for it at the time, but it was never wise to be without a good cryptographic key. And then he had discovered that his whim could very well lead to his salvation. A salvation that proved to be more of a wild goose chase than anything else, until Rupert happened into his shop last week, looking for this very same object. And while Rupert was quite possibly the last person he wanted to see at the moment, second to Lt. Foster, the man might very well hold the key to unlocking the secret of the L’ixre Risrex. And for that, Ethan would very willingly deal with Lt. Foster herself to get his hands on it.  
  
The only obstacle in Ethan’s way was getting Rupert to share his information. Fortunately, Ethan knew his powers of persuasion were still very firmly intact, even if everything else was gone.


	5. Chapter Five

“It’s the strangest thing, Rupert,” Trevor said, sounding completely bewildered. “Two years and not a single blip on the radar screen. Like he completely disappeared from the face of the planet.”  
  
“It’s not entirely unheard of.” Giles frowned. But Ethan had never been a fan of dimensional hopping, preferring this one far too much. There was always the potential of falling into one accidentally or getting sent there by an enemy, and Ethan had enough of those, he was certain. But it didn’t seem right. “So nothing between Sunnydale and London three years ago?”  
  
“Nothing whatsoever. I can look into a few other channels if you want me to. But I can’t guarantee anything.”  
  
“Keep looking for me. I appreciate it.”  
  
“No trouble. Gives me something fun to do for a change. Ta, mate.” Trevor disconnected with a laugh.   
  
Two years. It wasn’t in Ethan’s disposition to lay low for that long.  
  
Was it possible that the Initiative had managed to hold the man after all? Giles shook the thought off. According to Riley, Ethan had escaped from them not five minutes away from the motel. There was no reason not to believe Riley’s version, and yet the lad still had been in the thick of the Initiative at the time. But even if Ethan hadn’t escaped then, he could have shortly thereafter. Few things existed that could hold Ethan Rayne for any period of time.   
  
Giles glanced at his watch. Speaking of the devil, he should head on over to the shop to see if Ethan could deliver as promised. If he actually did produce the medallion, Giles wasn’t quite certain what that would mean. Forget speaking of the devil, he’d be making a deal with the devil. And he knew it.   
  
  
  
Giles hesitated outside the shop door. It would be best just to forget the whole thing. Maybe if he kept hounding the Syloth demon . . . No, he needed the Basheer Medallion. Moving forward was dependent upon it. And if he kept the transaction quick and strictly business, it might not turn out so bad.  
  
Wishful thinking with Ethan so heavily involved. Worst case scenario, he could always beat Ethan and run. Giles grimaced. For some reason that didn’t have the appeal it used to. After the fall of the First, he had found his taste for violence greatly diminished. Not that he had necessarily craved it, but he had no problem using it when necessary. Maybe he had finally seen too much, gotten too old for all of it  
  
But violence and Ethan always went hand in hand, or had until now. Usually a glimpse of the man left Giles with no other desire than to see him bruised and bloody. Because if he didn’t hit Ethan, Giles knew his feelings for the man would find some other outlet. Outlets that involved waking up hung-over, aching and smelling of sex. And as the Fyarl experience had proven, violence was the only safe way for dealing with Ethan. Because non-violence wasn’t reciprocated with an amicable parting.  
  
Last week, when he had seen Ethan for the first time in five years, Giles found that after the shock wore off he felt a detached annoyance and a weariness. A sense of oh god not again, I’m too old for this game. And the feeling only increased over the week.   
  
However, standing out here mulling over things wasn’t going to get this done any sooner. Best to go in and get it over with. Figure out motivations and everything else afterward.  
  
“Thought you were going to stand out there all day,” Ethan greeted him lightly from behind the counter.  
  
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you were unable to get it after all,” Giles said, ignoring Ethan’s jibe.  
  
“You have so little faith in me. I’m hurt, Ripper, I truly am,” Ethan replied, the twitching corner of his mouth giving little credence to the put-upon tone he used. He ducked down behind the counter then, reemerging a moment later to set a black, leather case on the countertop. “But as only solid proof will do,” he said as he flipped the catch on the case and turned it toward Giles, polished silver winking in the ambient light.   
  
Giles walked the short distance to the counter, eyes darting from Ethan to the medallion and back again. It looked like the Basheer Medallion, and yet . . .  
  
“How do I know it isn’t a fake?” he asked warily, studying the piece with a critical eye.  
  
“You can pick it up. It doesn’t bite. Promise.” Ethan’s voice was low, almost sultry.   
  
Keeping his mouth set in a firm line, Giles carefully picked up the medallion, ignoring Ethan for the moment. It lay heavy in his hand. Pure, solid silver then. That alone made it a pricey object. Turning it over, he found the five crisscrossed lines that indicated genuine Basheer manufacture.  
  
“Satisfied?” Ethan inquired.  
  
It seemed too good to be true. After all the trouble Giles had been through the last few months, it shouldn’t have been this easy to obtain. Especially with Ethan involved.  
  
He eyed Ethan suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”  
  
“Just the exorbitant amount of money you are about to pay me,” Ethan responded, sounding far too amused.   
  
Giles set the medallion down and reached into his coat for his billfold containing a money order made out for said exorbitant amount. He hesitated, billfold partially withdrawn.  
  
Frowning, he inquired warily, “Out of curiosity, just how were you able to procure the medallion so quickly?”   
  
“My natural charisma, of course.” Ethan’s eyes danced.  
  
What else did he expect, a straight answer? The man never would change. Giles was tempted to tell Ethan a thing or two about his charisma, but instead opted to keep to the task of obtaining the medallion and leaving as quickly as possible. He held out the money order. “This should be sufficient.”  
  
Ethan took the slip of paper. “So detached, Ripper. You really have grown old, haven’t you?” He shook his head. “If that’s the way you want it. You’re free to go. Have a good day, Rupert.”  
  
That was it? Giles watched the doorway to the back room for some time after Ethan disappeared through it. Now more than ever he hoped Trevor could turn something up, because the way Ethan was behaving just wasn’t quite normal.  
  
With nothing to be done about it at the moment, Giles closed the case on the Basheer Medallion, picked it up, and turned to leave the store. About half way to the door he stopped, transfixed by a painting to the right of the exit. It wasn’t possible. But there was nothing else the portrait could be. A young woman with hair the color of red flames looked down at him, her back to the viewer to mostly conceal and partially reveal her nudity as she glanced at her audience with a look of expectation. She said “You see me. What are you going to do about it?” But what set her apart from any other nude portrait was the red tattoo marring the otherwise flawless pale skin of her back. It wasn’t just any tattoo, either, like the symbols young women today sported without care to the meaning. No, this mark had purpose. It was a message from the artist to an observer who knew what he was looking at.  
  
Giles felt his blood rise; he had been right all along about Ethan.   
  
He went back to the counter and slammed the box down, rattling the glass.  
  
“Ethan!” He didn’t shout; he knew he didn’t need to. The moment Ethan appeared in the doorway, Giles reached for Ethan’s lapels and pulled him over the counter. “What in the hell are you doing with an Emerétzi?”


	6. Chapter Six

Despite the pain of the counter digging into his gut, Ethan couldn’t help but smile in the face of Ripper’s rage. It was the response he had been hoping for.  
  
“Stunning creature, isn’t she?” he commented amiably.  
  
“That wasn’t here last week.”  
  
“I’ve had it for a number of months. Maybe you just didn’t see it last time,” Ethan offered.  
  
“Because it wasn’t here last week. And you don’t leave Emerétzis laying about the place. More importantly, you don’t have Emerétzis to begin with.” Rupert’s voice was deadly quiet as he tightened his hold. “Where did you get it?”  
  
“It came in with one of my shipments,” Ethan said. It wasn’t a lie. Frankly, he’d had trouble believing that a piece of art from an artist whose work had all but been destroyed over the centuries had just fallen into his lap. While he usually wasn’t one to lend credence to such things, he had taken it as a sign that his luck was finally changing. About time, too. Then, to sweeten the bait a little more, he added, “Part of an estate lot I received from a backwoods village in Italy.”  
  
Rupert released him abruptly. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”   
  
“If by all along you mean since last week, then yes, I’ve had my suspicions. However, I didn’t know for certain until five minutes ago.”  
  
“I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning. I’ll thank you for my money back.” He held out his hand. The way the man could rein in his emotions was truly amazing. Violent rage to deadly calm in under a minute.  
  
“Rupert, you are pathetic. As desperate as you were to get your hands on the medallion, you’re willing to give it up just because it comes from me, and we might possibly have something in common again,” Ethan tsked. “That’s absurd and you know it.”  
  
“This ends now,” Rupert said firmly. “If I take the medallion, that’s it.”  
  
“And you’ll be kicking yourself every moment for your stubbornness, knowing that I have an Emerétzi in my possession, something which could further your search immeasurably. But you always did prefer to do things the hard way. However,” Ethan said, his voice dropping for coercion, “if we were to work together, there’s no telling what we could uncover.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You needed a Basheer Medallion and only a Basheer Medallion to translate something. You have something of the Order of Baale’n-Dûor that you’re working on. I happen to know quite a bit about them. I could use your help, and you most certainly could use mine.”  
  
He could see Rupert debating with himself. “What are you so interested in the Order of Baale’n-Dûor for?”  
  
“They’re a hobby of mine, you could say,” Ethan said. Again, not a lie. “Come on, Rupert. What harm can there be?”  
  
“You’re involved, aren’t you? There will be plenty of harm.”  
  
“Will be? Changed your mind then?”  
  
“I’m willing to hear you out,” Rupert replied tersely.  
  
“Well then, your place or mine?”  
  
“I would prefer more neutral territory. McNash’s?”  
  
“The pub the next block over? Sure you want to risk that again, Rupert?” Ethan forced a laugh.  
  
“As I suspect you don’t want to jeopardize your position any, it should be safe enough.” Then as an afterthought, he added. “You’re paying.”  
  
  
  
  
A Dark corner, a couple of pints—it could have been Sunnydale five years earlier. Probably not the best venue for discussion, all things considered, but nowhere else would be half as appropriate.  
  
It was amusing watching Rupert guard his beer so closely. Ethan took a small comfort in the fact that his past actions still carried some weight. If Rupert knew the truth, he was certain that would change in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t do to have Ripper aware too soon, if ever, of the fact that Ethan was as powerful as a housefly these days. Ethan needed every advantage he could get.  
  
“Tell me again how you came by the Emerétzi,” Rupert prompted.  
  
Ethan took a long swallow of his Harp before speaking. “There’s not much to tell beyond what I said back at the shop. It came in with an estate liquidation from Italy. A literal steal, the painting aside. I’d feel sorry for the family if I cared about such things.”  
  
“What else was in the shipment?”  
  
“Aside from another medallion, nothing of real interest.” He paused briefly, then added, “Well, there was a set of stunning seventeenth century pewter candlesticks which netted me a very nice profit.” There had been something else of interest, a small bit of parchment stowed in the base of one of the candlesticks, but Rupert didn’t need that information yet, either.  
  
“You don’t have hobbies, Ethan,” Rupert said flatly. “So what is your interest in the Order of Baale’n-Dûor?”   
  
“I think I’ve been more than generous, Rupert. You want to know more? You tell me what your interest in the Order of Baale’n-Dûor is.”  
  
“I thought you said you already knew.”  
  
“I don’t know the specifics, do I?” Ethan retorted. “You could be doing a historical retrospective or translating a prophecy for your precious Slayer. The only certainty is that it is something involving the Order of Baale’n-Dûor.”  
  
“It’s personal research,” Rupert answered.  
  
Ethan nodded. Cagey bastard. Not that he had expected any different. “As is mine. Now, moving on.”  
  
“The only research you’ve ever done is pertaining to spells and workings. Academics were never your forte,” his companion countered.  
  
“Things change, Ripper. People change.” People are changed, Ethan amended mentally. “Neither of us are the men we were thirty years ago. Isn’t it time you realized that?”  
  
Rupert choking on his beer made the entire encounter worthwhile.  
  
“Me?” he sputtered, then broke into a harsh, derisive laugh. “You’re the one who bloody kept showing up over the years trying to get me to go back to the person I was then.”  
  
“Not go back, Rupert. Just realize that you weren’t the stuffed shirt you were pretending to be. And are still pretending to be. Albeit with a bit more style.” Ethan smirked.  
  
“Who’s the one wearing tweed?”  
  
He shrugged. “Tweed is the fashion this season, mate. And it’s amazing how good it is for business. Lends a bit of respectability reputation alone can’t carry.”  
  
Rupert didn’t seem to have an argument for that.  
  
Taking advantage of Rupert’s silence, Ethan decided now was as good as any time to plunge ahead. “I have a proposition.”  
  
“This should be good,” Rupert scoffed, lifting his drink.  
  
“We combine our efforts. I know that each of us has something the other is missing in their research. And you, mate, are a completist. Ever since I mentioned Italy, I’ve seen your mind working, trying to figure out where in Italy the estate is, what else could possibly be there. I know where, and I have a contact that can make the going a lot easier.” Ethan took a moment to finish his beer. “As for what you can offer me, Ripper. If my surmise is correct about your need for the medallion, you are in possession of a bit of text I need to continue my search.”  
  
“You’ll give me a town in exchange for three lines of undeciphered text?”  
  
Ethan restrained himself for shouting his victory. Rupert did have what he needed. Perfect. Keeping his tone casual, Ethan concluded his proposition, “See what a deal you’re getting, Rupert? Where can you go wrong?”  
  
“I can think of a few places.” He frowned, seeming to give the matter deep consideration. “If you screw me over, Ethan . . .” He left the thought unfinished.  
  
Ethan had a momentary flash of the chair and Lt. Foster, but forced it away with a smile. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about going back there. It was quite impressive how much influence he had retained, even if he no longer had the power to back it up. The last vestige of the Initiative was gone, and anything else Ripper could threaten would pale in comparison to the two years of hell Ethan had gone through. “I have no intention of screwing you  _over_ , Rupert. So do we have a deal?”


	7. Chapter Seven

“Uh, Giles, is there something you’re not telling me?”  
  
He entered his living room to find Buffy staring at his two steamer trunks full of books and documents with a puzzled expression.  
  
Ignoring her question, he set down his duffle bag with an exasperated sigh. “I suppose after nearly a decade of knowing you, I shouldn’t expect you to suddenly learn how to knock or ring the doorbell.”  
  
“It was only that one time.” Then she frowned. “Don’t think you can distract me that easily. What’s going on?”  
  
“I’m just taking a small research trip to Italy for a week or two.”  
  
“Wait, Italy? I lived there for an entire year and now you decide to go there? I’m hurt, Giles,” she said. “But this is just a trip, right? Not a permanent relocation?”   
  
“Yes, Buffy, it’s just a trip,” he reassured her. “I was going to call you when I finished packing.”  
  
Picking one of the books out of the trunk, she sat on his couch and began paging through it, not really looking. “So is this for fun research or something potentially world-ending related?”  
  
“For lack of a better word, yes, it is ‘for fun.’ Not that you’ve ever paid attention, but remember that cult I’ve been working on a history of?”  
  
“Barad-Dur or something like that? Oh wait, that was in that Fellowship movie Andrew likes.”  
  
“It’s the Order of Baale’n-Dûor. But for once you’re not that far off.” He smiled.  
  
“See, I do pay attention,” she said with a returning grin. “Don’t you think you’re packing a bit heavy for this trip? Are you sure you need all these books and things? Can’t you condense it somehow?”  
  
“Too many cross-references. If I’m going to the source as I hope, I’d like to have everything with me, just in case.”  
  
“Giles, you could fit a person in each of those trunks!”  
  
“Buffy.”  
  
“Fine,” she said, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”  
  
Giles sat down in his armchair with a sigh. He had debated long and hard about whether or not to tell Buffy about Ethan’s involvement in the whole affair. Frankly, it would go over like a lead balloon with her. She would throw back at him the dozen or so logical reasons not to do this that he had already considered. But his decision had been made. And any argument would be worth having her know where he was and with whom, in case anything strange were to happen. Which Ethan’s involvement guaranteed.   
  
“There’s something you should know about the trip.”  
  
“That the whole research thing is a cover and you’re really just running off to have an affair with an old lover,” she teased.   
  
He was very glad that much of his past was still a mystery to the girl.  
  
“The research is not a cover, but I won’t be going alone.”  
  
“Ah ha! Who is she?”  
  
Giles rolled his eyes. “There is no she. It’s a joint research venture.”  
  
“Spoil my fun,” she sighed. “So who’s the travel buddy?”  
  
“Ethan Rayne.”  
  
Buffy blinked. “You did just say ‘Ethan Rayne’?” He nodded. “And you’re serious.”  
  
“Yes, Buffy.”  
  
“This is Ethan Rayne who enchanted the Halloween costumes and spiked the band candy?” she asked incredulously. “The same Ethan Rayne who, a few years ago, thought it would be fun to turn you into a demon so I could kill you?” she pointed out emphatically, then waited for a response. “Giles?”  
  
“Ethan Rayne,” he repeated.  
  
“I think I’m stating the obvious here, but are you crazy?” she asked, her voice raising an octave.   
  
“Quite possibly.”  
  
“Did you get hit over the head or something? Because I’m thinking travel with an enemy, not a good move.”  
  
“He had an artifact I needed as well as a contact that may help further my research,” he stated simply.   
  
“The guy shows up out of nowhere after what, five years? Has a thingamajig you need and more information, supposedly, and you’re not worried?” She looked at him as if she had never seen him before.  
  
“Ethan has been running an antiquities shop in South London for the last three years, so he didn’t show up from nowhere. And I found him,” he added. “I was having trouble getting the piece I needed from my normal contact, so Harmony directed me to his shop.”  
  
“I told you it was a bad idea to hire her, no matter what Angel said. And when did you start taking advice from Angel?” She seemed to struggle to get back on track. “Harmony and Ethan are probably in cahoots, trying to set you up.”  
  
“First of all, she doesn’t know Ethan. Secondly, he’s been running the shop under a different name. And third, I’m not stupid.”  
  
“I never said you were.” She looked wounded.  
  
“Don’t you think I haven’t considered this from every angle? I even have an ex-colleague who works for the NSA looking into it. So far, nothing.”  
  
“But, Giles, this is Ethan. He has to be up to something.”  
  
“Of course he is. That’s part of Ethan’s nature.” He shrugged helplessly. “The fact remains that I am going. I just wanted you to know.”  
  
“So when you disappear I’ll know who to track down.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Buffy was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded resigned. “I love ya, Giles, but you really can be quite an idiot.”  
  
“Thank you, Buffy,” he said sincerely.  
  
Her attention strayed back to the trunks. “You win on the Ethan issue, you know him best after all. But about your lack of packing skills . . .”  
  
Giles laughed as she tried to convince him to leave at least one of the trunks behind.  
  
  
  
“You know I’ve heard they make these fascinating gadgets called computers. And incredible as it may seem, you can put entire libraries on the things,” Ethan informed him sarcastically as they waited for Giles’ two trunks to come through the baggage claim. “It would certainly be safer than entrusting priceless texts to the care of the lackeys who load and unload the planes.”  
  
“Pain that it may be, I like carrying around my musty, heavy books,” Giles replied tersely. “And incompetent lackeys or no, believe me, this is imminently safer. There’s no telling what the consequences may be when integrating texts as old as these with technology.”  
  
“So are you speaking from experience, or is this just your general abhorrence of technology coming to the fore yet again?”  
  
“Both.” Then he sighed with relief, finally spotting his trunks on the conveyor. He went over and pulled them off. Turning, he saw that Ethan hadn’t moved.  
  
Ethan shook his head as he casually shifted his duffle from one hand to the other. “Oh, no, mate. Every man for himself, remember?”  
  
“You proposed this little joint venture, the least you can do is lend a hand.”  
  
“But I did lend a hand. I gave you some good, sound advice that will serve you in the future.” That said, Ethan turned on his heel and headed toward the exit.  
  
Throwing his duffle over one shoulder and taking a trunk handle in each hand, Giles set off after Ethan, wishing that he had listened to Buffy and not brought both trunks. At least they had wheels, so while unwieldy, one person could still manage them. “I’m going to bloody well kill that man,” he grumbled.  
  
  
  
It was fortunate that there were presently a number of countries and the English Channel separating Giles from Harmony. The next time he saw her, she was fired. She would be lucky just to be fired. At present, he was very ready to make his secretary into a pile of dust. Dust might be quite satisfying.  
  
“I am very apologetic, Signore Giles, but there are no more rooms to be had elsewhere. You are very fortunate getting the one you do,” Alberto, the concierge, informed him.  
  
“Is the room at least a double?” Giles asked, trying hard to keep his voice as calm and pleasant as possible. It wasn’t this man’s fault that his secretary was completely inept.  
  
Alberto consulted his computer and frowned. “No, signore, but there is a convertible couch in your suite.”  
  
“Fine,” he said, signing for the room. The bad idea just kept getting worse. And Giles had a feeling this was only the beginning.  
  
Taking the keys, he went over to where Ethan waited in the lounge, looking at home by the bar as he sipped his scotch. And he was dressed more like the Ethan Giles knew. The muted brick button-up suited him. Suited him? Giles mentally kicked himself. He really didn’t need to go down that avenue on top of everything else.  
  
“I daresay I am impressed, Rupert. I expected some budget accommodations, but you went above and beyond,” he said, sounding sincere.  
  
“You can thank my former secretary.”  
  
“Former? That nice, is it?” He smirked.  
  
“Finish your drink, Ethan,” Giles said shortly. “Let’s not keep the porter waiting.”  
  
“If you didn’t have so much luggage, there wouldn’t be porter waiting.”  
  
“Thank you for making this my fault,” Giles sighed. “Can we just go to the room?”  
  
“Don’t you mean rooms?” Ethan’s dark eyes watched him closely.  
  
“Ethan.”  
  
The man tossed back his drink and hopped off his stool. “You really are touchy today, aren’t you? You should relax a bit, Rupert. Think of this as a vacation.”   
  
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember why he was putting himself through this. “The only vacation I can think of that would involve you is the type somewhere in the region of hell or a hell dimension.”   
  
“You didn’t always used to think like that,” Ethan replied in his usual cavalier tone, but there was something off in his expression. Maybe it was the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.   
  
Giles pushed the thought to the side. Trying to figure out what was going on in Ethan’s head was dangerous territory and next to impossible. At one time Giles had known, but—  
  
“Earth to Ripper. Remember that porter you were so determined not to keep waiting.”  
  
“Right, yes.” He led the way back to the lobby.  
  
The porter took them up to their room on the fifth floor. “Will there be anything more I can be doing for you, signores?” the porter inquired. “Shall I help you to be settled?”  
  
“No, that will be all,” Giles said, handing the man a five Euro tip.  
  
“Care to tell me where my room is?” Ethan looked at him expectantly. “Or am I to be sleeping out in the hall?”  
  
“They only had one room,” Giles mumbled quickly, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Ethan didn’t follow.  
  
“I hate to point out the obvious, old man, but you are aware of the fact that there are more hotels in this city.”  
  
“It’s only for a night, then we’re moving on to Aleveria. It would be too much trouble to change now.”  
  
Shrugging, Ethan finally entered, closing the door behind him. “I would have thought one night would have been too much for you.”  
  
“It’s only one night.” Giles smirked. “But from the fuss you’re making, it seems like you have the problem.”   
  
Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes traveling over Giles from toe to head. “I’ve never had a problem being in the same room as you, Ripper.”  
  
And he’d walked right into that. Giles had no one to blame but himself. He did his best to look nonplussed at Ethan’s blatant verbal and physical innuendo. Not the easiest thing when his body decided to remind Giles that he hadn’t always had a problem being in the same room as Ethan, either.  
  
And suddenly, the trouble of finding a hotel with more than one open room wasn’t looking like much trouble at all.


	8. Chapter Eight

He had been through the procedure four times. Today would be his fifth. And after every time, the effects lasted just a little longer, left him feeling a bit more empty. Following the second time, he tried to conceal from them when the magics returned, avoided all workings even though he could feel the power thrumming through his body, begging for release. But they had known, waited until he was just starting to feel himself again. Then they’d take him to the room, Lt. Foster would hook him up, and the machine would do what it did and leave Ethan empty for the week or three or month or more it took for him to recharge.  
  
At least the electroshock treatments had ceased. Though given a choice between the two, he would have kept the electroshocks. Because pain was preferable to the alternative.  
  
“Things are progressing very well, Mr. Rayne. You should be proud, especially since you’re our first subject with this procedure,” Lt. Foster informed him cheerfully.  
  
“Do I get a prize?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he tried to ignore the needles and wires and the painless pulling apart sensation he would soon be feeling.  
  
“Being out in the world again seems like a good prize to me,” she replied, clicking the button on her remote. As the machine did its thing, she continued to talk to him in the pleasant, friendly manner she had. “No more concrete or neon lights. No more glass wall or doctors. Only fresh air, sunlight, and the world laid at your disposal.”  
  
“The price being?” He focused on the sadistic candy-striper to block out the emptiness left behind as they drained his magic once again.  
  
“I think you know the price of rehabilitation.” She smiled. “But freedom, Mr. Rayne. After nearly two years of being locked up, isn’t it worth it?”  
  
Then she clicked the button on her remote one more time. But the machine didn’t turn off. Instead, the sensation intensified and for the first time in his life, Ethan Rayne felt true, undiluted pain.  
  
He screamed.  
  
  
  
And continued screaming when he woke up in restraints. They had never let him go. But screaming never helped. In fact, they liked it when he screamed. So he stopped. When he stopped screaming, reality slowly reasserted itself.  
  
The air was balmy and smelled of the city at night, not the sterile, climate-controlled sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit the Initiative preferred. He could just make out the sounds of early morning traffic in the street below. And it was dark, no perpetual fluorescent day.  
  
“Ethan?” The voice was low and full of concern that had been absent from it for years.  
  
He turned away from the darkness of the room and looked at the figure sitting beside him on the roll-away. If he looked hard enough, he could just make out the furrowed brow and worry etched onto Rupert’s face. And it was Rupert’s hands that gripped his upper arms, not the padded restraints favored by the Initiative.  
  
“Trying to take advantage of me in my sleep, eh, Ripper?” Ethan forced innuendo and lightness into his tone to cover for the cold anger than was creeping over him. He didn’t blame Rupert for what had been done to him; Rupert’s morals were too firmly entrenched to knowingly allow anyone to suffer at the hands of the Initiative. But it was Rupert’s fault Ethan had been in their hands to begin with.  
  
The hands released him. “Why am I not surprised,” Rupert sighed.  
  
It wasn’t until Rupert’s hands were gone that Ethan felt the emptiness again. For one moment he had felt whole again. Good to know that unused as they were, Rupert’s magics were still firmly intact and as strong as ever. What Ethan wouldn’t give to—he pushed the thought away. Now wasn’t the time.  
  
Ethan waited, but Rupert remained, not looking like he was going to get up anytime soon.  
  
“It was just a nightmare, Ripper,” he said shortly. “You’ve done your good deed, ensured the hotel denizens a quiet night’s sleep. Go back to bed.”  
  
“You don’t scare easily, Ethan.”  
  
“I’m not going to bloody share my dream, Rupert. Not that I can even remember what it was about,” he said dismissively, although he could recall the dream all too well. But then, it wasn’t a dream, wasn’t it? Or hadn’t been.  
  
“You were screaming your head off, Ethan. And now you’re shaking. What was it?”  
  
Ethan realized that he was shaking, violently. He willed his body into control, or tried to. “I’m fine, Rupert,” he said tersely, the statement undermined by his continued shaking.  
  
“You mostly certainly are not fine.”  
  
Finally, he’d had enough. “Wonderful as this is and all, you can drop the concerned act anytime.”  
  
“Ethan—”  
  
“Rupert, go back to your own fucking bed.”  
  
That seemed to get through. Without another word, Rupert got up and left him.  
  
Bastard.  
  
Ethan lay back down, turning his back on Rupert and his end of the room. Ethan knew the man wouldn’t let up until he found out what was going on with Ethan. Rupert was worse than a rabid dog that way, and his suspicions of Ethan’s motives would only make him more determined. Maybe Ethan should tell him, just to see the look on the other man’s face. And the guilt. Because Rupert would blame himself. Which could work to Ethan’s advantage.  
  
Guilt would make it easier to convince Rupert to do what Ethan needed done to make this whole venture worthwhile.  
  
But Ethan might not need the guilt. Rupert’s insatiable desire for knowledge might be all the persuasion he would need. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Ripper had tried not to notice the feeling of someone watching him, but unlike the traffic or noises the neighbors made, it wasn’t one of those things you could ignore and go back to sleep. Giving up, he opened his eyes to find Ethan on the bed studying him intently.   
  
Ripper’s eyes narrowed. “What?”  
  
“You really have no idea, do you?” Ethan stated with wonder. His left hand rose and began to trace random patterns on Ripper’s chest. “But how could you know? It’s so much a part of you, you’d never notice unless something happened to it.”  
  
“Ethan, what on earth are you going on about?” he asked in annoyance. It was too bloody early for conversation in the first place. Christ, it couldn’t be eleven yet.  
  
“There’s so much power in here.” Ethan tapped Ripper’s chest. “Everywhere in you. Woven into every cell, coursing through you. I could practically taste it the day we met. It’s the reason I sought you out. I had to know who you were.”  
  
“And here I’ve been thinking it was my ass you wanted the entire time.”  
  
Ethan leered. “Among other assets. Taken altogether, Ripper, you’re an irresistible package.”  
  
“Now that we have that settled, bugger off so I can get some sleep,” he said, rolling away.  
  
“I compliment the man, and he gets pissy. There’s gratitude for you,” Ethan addressed the room at large.  
  
“If you did it at a reasonable hour, he wouldn’t get pissy,” Ripper grumbled, pulling the blanket away from Ethan for emphasis. Blighter was wide awake, he didn’t need it.  
  
Ripper felt warm lips kissing a soft trail along his shoulders. “You have no one but yourself to blame for waking up.”  
  
“You were bloody staring at me. It’s not very easy to sleep with someone staring at you. And you know how much I hate it when you watch me sleep.”  
  
“I like watching you sleep,” Ethan replied, nipping at the muscle between his lover’s neck and shoulder, hand idly tracing down Ripper’s arm, along his side, brushing lightly over his stirring cock. “Besides, you don’t hate it as much as you claim. Well, not all of you.”  
  
The man was insufferable, never knew when to shut up or piss off. Not that that didn’t have its benefits. Ethan always had a way of making things up to him.  
  
The light stroking became more insistent. “C’mon, Ripper, there are much better things to do than sleep at this hour. Don’t you think?”  
  
Ripper agreed, but would never voice his agreement out loud. Instead, he grabbed Ethan’s arm and rolled, pinning the other man against the bed.  
  
“What could you possibly have to offer me that could be better than sleep?”  
  
“Any number of things, Ripper, a few of which are sadly limited at the present.” Ethan smirked up at him, brown eyes dancing. His right leg came up and wrapped around Ripper’s thigh. “But limited as things may be, I’m certain you can think of something.”  
  
Reaching over to the nightstand, Ripper fumbled with the cap on the lube, never taking his eyes from Ethan’s. “Remind me again why I don’t toss you out on your ear?”  
  
“Because I’d come right back,” Ethan pointed out, taking the lube from Ripper and slicking the cool gel along Ripper’s shaft.  
  
Ripper shivered at the touch. It wasn’t the cold, but Ethan’s hand on him, so knowing, that caused the response. Ethan was more consuming than any drug, and ten times as addictive. The reason Ripper didn’t get rid of Ethan was that he couldn’t. Ethan made him forget. Ethan made him shine. And Ethan had power that rivaled his own. A power that drew him, a power that challenged him, and a power that mixed with his own, creating something entirely—  
  
“You fall asleep on me after all?” Ethan interrupted his thoughts.  
  
“Would serve you right,” Ripper replied, moving so his cock prodded between Ethan’s cheeks, seeking its desired target, pressing in with little resistance.  
  
“Oh god, Ripper,” Ethan sighed with what sounded like intense, satisfied relief.  
  
Ripper couldn’t really say much of anything. The initial contact was always too overwhelming. Tight, hot, and so fucking right. So right it was frightening at times. And when he began to move, he felt it, felt Ethan’s power. He might not be able to feel his own power, but Ripper could feel Ethan’s. It was something he never knew how much he missed until he felt it again, pulling him in, drowning him.  
  
  
  
Giles awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the plush surroundings. Well, plush compared to the old London flat he had back when he and Ethan—  
  
Ethan was sitting at the table, coffee in hand, book open before him. But he wasn’t reading.  
  
“You know I hate it when you watch me sleep.”  
  
Ethan smirked. “All the more reason for me to do it, isn’t it, mate?”  
  
“So bloody predictable,” Giles grumbled, as he started to get his bearings. And in getting his bearings he realized that he had a slight problem. A problem he knew wasn’t going to go away anytime soon without assistance. And with Ethan sitting directly across the room from him, Giles wouldn’t be getting up to take care of it himself.  
  
“You still talk in your sleep,” Ethan commented easily, sipping his coffee.  
  
Fuck. To Ethan, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t really know, would I? What with being asleep and all.”  
  
“It’s really quite entertaining. You’re missing out.”  
  
“I’m certain it is,” Giles replied, wracking his brain to come up with a way to slip out of the bed without Ethan noticing anything amiss. Not that the bastard probably didn’t already know he had a raging hard-on. Bloody useless dreams. He hadn’t had one like that in . . . Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time. But of course he’d have one now. Perfect. “Do you have to be here?”  
  
“As I don’t have my own room to go to, it would appear that I do.”  
  
“Well, could you go somewhere else so I can shower?”  
  
“Modest after all these years?” Ethan tsked. “Oh, Ripper, you really are in a sorry state.”  
  
“Ethan, please?” As if begging would work.  
  
“Oh, no. You’re making too big of a deal out of it for me to leave. Got something you don’t want me to see, I suspect,” Ethan said knowingly, his voice dipping low. “I could help you with that, you know.”  
  
Giles closed his eyes, trying to ignore Ripper’s voice saying how much he wouldn’t mind taking Ethan up on that offer. Or call his bluff. Although, Giles was certain the offer was quite real.   
  
He had no one to blame but himself. Steeling himself for Ethan’s taunts, he threw back the covers and walked to the bathroom as casually as possible, slamming and locking the door behind him.  
  
The door didn’t do a damn thing to block out Ethan’s laughter. Bastard.  
  
He turned on the shower full blast. Cold was the order of the day, but there was no way in hell he was going to make himself more uncomfortable.  
  
As he was undressing, something hit him suddenly, causing his hands to still on the drawstring of his pants. Ethan’s laughter. The man hadn’t been in any mood to laugh last night. He had awoken Giles in the middle of the night with his screaming. God, how could he not remember that?  
  
He thought back. Ethan screaming so loud that Giles had shaken him awake and questioned the man, but had gotten nothing, even when Ethan started shaking uncontrollably.  
  
But there was something else. Something that had struck Giles as odd. What had it been? What had—nothing. When he had touched Ethan, Giles had felt nothing. Before, any direct contact had always elicited a slight tingle, almost like an electric current. But last night, there was nothing. And suddenly, he knew.  
  
Giles reached in and turned off the shower. Then he went to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and went out into the main room.  
  
“Well, that was quick,” Ethan teased.  
  
Giles ignored him. “It’s gone, isn’t it?” he asked directly.   
  
Dark eyes flickered briefly, but otherwise Ethan gave no indication that he knew what Giles meant.  
  
“Your magic is gone,” Giles answered for him. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”


	10. Chapter Ten

Rupert’s words hung in the air between them. So he had figured it out. Points to Giles, Ethan thought ruefully. Not that he was all that surprised; Rupert could usually figure anything out, given enough time. A bit more time to work on the man would have been nice, but there was always the guilt card to play if things started to go south.  
  
Ethan had an idea as to how Rupert figured it out, but he needed to know for certain. It could be useful in the future, and worth the small advantage he had lost.  
  
“What tipped you off, Ripper? Besides that feeling in your gut that tells you not to trust me?” he inquired, reclining easily in his chair.  
  
Rupert’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You aren’t denying it.”  
  
“It doesn’t serve any purpose for me to deny it,” Ethan admitted. “You could feel it last night, couldn’t you?”  
  
“I didn’t realize until this morning, but yes,” his companion said, his expression unreadable. “When did it happen?”   
  
Ethan had to smile. “I’m betting you or whoever you had looking into my activities for the last five years couldn’t find a single thing on me during those two years between Sunnydale and London. That and the fact that I’ve been a respectable business man for the last three years has to have been driving you mad.”  
  
“You’re not one to go unnoticed for very long,” Rupert said bluntly.   
  
“No, I’m not. But you could say that I learned the hard way that flying under the radar, while dull, is more conducive to my continued well-being.”  
  
“Did one of your enemies finally catch up with you?”  
  
“Yes, you could say that.” Ethan could see the man’s mind working, trying to figure things out. He already had the answer if he made the right connections.  
  
“It wasn’t the Initiative,” Rupert stated flatly. “You escaped the transport before they’d reached the city line. That’s what Riley said.”  
  
“And you believed him, naturally. No reason not to.” Ethan forced his tone to remain light. He couldn’t afford anger at the moment, had to play this cool and detached. “But I did manage to get free of them near the city line, so the soldier didn’t lie to you. He just left out a few details. They recaptured me about five minutes later, this time a bit more alert to any other diversions I might try.”  
  
Rupert sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “You were in their custody for two years?” he asked slowly.  
  
Ethan shrugged. “Give or take.”  
  
“I never thought . . .”  
  
While it would be too easy to make Rupert feel like he was to blame for the entire affair, Ethan realized that he didn’t want that. A little guilt would be helpful, too much and he might as well give up this venture now. He really couldn’t afford to have Rupert wallowing in tweed for twenty-odd years as he had following Randall’s death.   
  
“Don’t beat yourself up too much, Ripper. It’s not like you knew any better, at the time.” That was about the right mix.  
  
“In your nightmare last night, you were back there again.”  
  
Ethan nodded. “And before you ask, no, I am not giving you the details. It’s not something I’m particularly found of recounting. Suffice it to say, they’ve put science to some very inventive and not entirely pleasant uses.”  
  
“Is it a chip?”  
  
“Not a chip or any other behavior modification device. They found a way to take the magic out of me,” he replied, his voice even as though he were just reciting facts.  
  
“They drained you,” Rupert said quietly.  
  
“Repeatedly,” Ethan said with finality, managing to repress the shudder that threatened to pass through him. He needed to appear in control here, needed to seem like he wasn’t desperate. “And that’s really all I’d care to say about it, if you don’t mind. I know your curiosity is insatiable, but you’ll have to curb it just this once.”  
  
Rupert sat there, watching him silently. Finally, frowning, he spoke. “You’re after the L’ixre Risrex, aren’t you? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”  
  
“Or maybe I’m after a partner for that charming girl gazing down from my shop wall,” Ethan replied. “You know it’s never a good idea to assume things, Rupert.”  
  
“I’m not assuming. I know you, Ethan,” he said pointedly.   
  
“Correction, you knew me, mate,” Ethan amended.  
  
“No, Ethan I know you.” Rupert’s smile held no emotion. “While Emerétzis and items relating to the Order of Baale’n-Dûor may turn a nice profit, that’s not something that you would pursue this actively. And you’ve gotten me involved,” he finished with emphasis as if it were the crux of his argument.   
  
Ethan smirked. “You came to Italy of your own free will. Just as you were the one who found me. So I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say that I was the one to get you involved.”  
  
“I’m not in the mood for games,” Rupert said sternly, eyes narrowed. “Is there really a contact in Aleveria or are you leading me on a wild goose chase?”   
  
“Yes, Rupert, there really is a contact. And you’re here because I need your help,” Ethan admitted. “I’m missing a few pieces that your brain and a few of those musty books might be able to fill in.”  
  
“And why shouldn’t I just take the next flight back to London? Because it’s my fault what they did to you?” There was anger in his voice.  
  
“You help me out, you further your research. That’s it, plain and simple.” Again, there was no reason to tell Rupert everything at this juncture. “Working together can’t really be that terrible can it? And just think, you’re saving on expenses this way.”  
  
Rupert closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and rose from the bed as he opened them again. “Fine. We’ll go to Aleveria. But I’m reserving the right to leave at any time.”  
  
With that he headed into the bathroom.  
  
Ethan picked up the book he had been skimming before Rupert’s dream turned interesting, not fighting the smile that tugged at his lips. This was going far better than he could have hoped. Rupert could walk away at anytime, but he wouldn’t. By the time he realized why Ethan needed him, Rupert would have no desire to walk away at all.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The hour and a half it took them to drive to Aleveria passed in relative silence, mainly due to the fact that Giles had no idea what to say. And for the first time since they met, Ethan didn’t seem inclined to talk, either. Uncomfortable was an understatement. They didn’t do silence. To top it all off, the car radio was busted. Not that the Italian radio stations were much to rave about, in Giles’ opinion, but anything would have been preferable to the pervading quiet.   
  
He should be on a plane back to London right now. That was the smart thing to do. No, the smart thing would have been walking away the moment he saw Ethan. This couldn’t lead to anything good, and yet he still kept going. In no way did Giles feel he owed Ethan anything. What had happened to the man was on his own head. Ethan had chosen his path. Giles in no way felt responsible for what had befallen Ethan. His hands clenched on the steering wheel, repressing a shudder that threatened to pass through them at what the depraved scientists had come up with to steal a person’s magic. He had thought Ethan had escaped. End of story. There was no reason for the niggling feeling of guilt in the pit of Giles’ stomach, that maybe, just maybe he should have looked into things, found out for certain that Ethan had gotten free.   
  
“You’ll want to turn up there,” Ethan said, breaking Giles out of his thoughts. He motioned to the dirt two-track leading off to the right of the main road. “Should be about ten k to the village.”  
  
Giles laughed suddenly.  
  
Ethan looked at him like he had grown a second head. “What?”  
  
“Oh, Christ. It’s this. Us,” he laughed again, amused at how incredibly absurd this situation was. “I don’t think you’ve ever really gone more than ten minutes without talking. But you haven’t said a thing in the last hour, except for now with directions.”  
  
“I’m glad you find it so amusing,” the other man said flatly. “I just happen to not be in a very talkative move at the moment.”  
  
“No, you just don’t want to chance pissing me off,” Giles said intuitively.  
  
“Ripper, my being in the same room as you pisses you off,” Ethan pointed out. “I don’t need to say anything.”   
  
He had a point.  
  
“But since you’re in the mood to talk,” Ethan continued, “how is that medallion coming along for you?”   
  
Giles frowned. As of yet the medallion was useless. The trouble came from the fact that the piece was composed of two concentric circles. If the circles weren’t properly aligned, then the Basheer Medallion was pretty much most useful as a coaster.  
  
Ethan smiled knowingly. “Don’t know how to use it, do you?”  
  
“And you do?”  
  
“If I knew how to use the bloody thing, do you honestly believe we’d be here together now?”  
  
Sighing, Giles countered, “Do I really need to answer that?”   
  
“Always so suspicious. Don’t you trust me anymore, Rupert?” Ethan asked sarcastically.  
  
Giles had no one to blame but himself for disrupting the quiet. Fortunately, he could see the village up ahead, so they wouldn’t be in close quarters for much longer.  
  
“So, Rupert, did that charming secretary of yours manage to procure us two rooms this time?” It was amazing how not innocent Ethan could make innocent sound.   
  
“Yes, we have separate rooms. I verified this morning.”  
  
“Pity,” Ethan said, his voice low.  
  
Embarrassing as the morning had been, Giles had to admit the shared room had proven invaluable. There was no telling when, if ever, Ethan would have told him about the Initiative.   
  
Invaluable as it had been, it was not an experience Giles wanted to repeat. If they were going to get through this without any major incident, he needed some time away from the man. Being with Ethan around the clock never led to anything good.  
  
Giles pulled to a stop in front of the villa they would be staying at.  
  
Ethan considered the place for a moment, then looked at Giles. “This isn’t the sort of place with bellhops, is it?”  
  
Giles shook his head.  
  
“You really should have packed lighter,” he smirked, grabbing his bag from the back and bolting from the car.  
  
Yes, time away from Ethan was a very good thing.  
  
  
  
But time away from Ethan wouldn’t happen until much later. Barely settled, Ethan insisted on hiking up to the Federicci manor at once to see what they could find out. The man was in possession of enough foresight to have obtained a key from the executor of the estate before their arrival.  
  
The three-storey structure would have been incredibly imposing if the ill effects of poor upkeep weren’t so obvious. Peeling paint and shutters hanging askew. However, from the front at least, none of the windows were broken. So the place hadn’t fallen into complete disrepair and neglect yet.  
  
If the outside of the house could be described as run-down, the interior was pristine, giving the viewer and idea of what the potential of the place truly was.  
  
“I think our best bet is to split up,” Ethan suggested.  
  
Giles didn’t even need to think. “No. We search together.”  
  
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”  
  
“I don’t trust you, Ethan. I’m being practical.”  
  
He sighed. “Fine. Can I at least pick where we start looking.”  
  
“Be my guest,” Giles said, waving Ethan forward.  
  
The house was a veritable treasure trove of antiquities, among which were several early Etruscan vases and statuettes. While Giles wanted to linger, take a closer look at several pieces, Ethan wouldn’t let him. The man was possessed of a single mission, quickly but thoroughly scanning the rooms as they moved through the house, only spending enough time to see there was nothing of interest to him. As they progressed and nothing related to the order or Emerétzi turned up, Ethan grew more tense as frustration began to overtake him.  
  
“There has to be more here,” he muttered.  
  
Giles kept his peace, somewhat unnerved by Ethan’s agitation and yet enjoying it at the same time. It was good to see Ethan off-balance and not in control of things every once in awhile. And yet the edge of desperation made Giles slightly ill.  
  
It was until they were almost finished exploring the second floor that they came across a second Emerétzi.   
  
“Seems that I was looking for a companion for that girl in my shop after all,” Ethan said, grinning triumphantly.  
  
This painting was nearly identical to the one that hung on Ethan’s shop wall, except for the fact that the woman in this painting was considerably older. Perhaps it was the same girl several years later, or possibly her mother or grandmother. The fiery hair had faded to nearly white, only faint streaks of orange hinting at its former brilliance. While age was evident on the woman’s body, she held herself the same way as in the younger picture, glancing challengingly over her still gracefully curved back. But there was something else in the daring gaze, wisdom possibly?   
  
“Well, you certainly can’t say Emerétzi didn’t have a sense of irony,” Ethan laughed. “We have here Necessità di Ghiaccio, or the Necessity of Ice, if you want to go for the literal translation.”  
  
“And the other is Desiderio di Fuoco—Desire of Fire.” Giles smiled in spite of himself.   
  
His attention was drawn to the woman’s lower back. Here too was another tattoo, emblazoned in dark blue this time, but instead of symbols, this one contained Latin-based letters. A slight variation upon the other and—Oh no, it couldn’t be that simple, could it?  
  
Ethan had already grabbed Giles’ briefcase and was riffling through the contents. He pulled out a colored photograph with a grin of triumph.   
  
“It’s always obvious when you know what you’re looking at,” he said in amusement, turning the picture so Giles could observe the close-up of the tattoo from the first painting. “I think that medallion might be of some use to you now.”  
  
Apparently it was that easy. Smug bastard.


	12. Chapter Tweleve

Ethan lounged on Rupert’s bed, idly flipping through the meager channel selection on the television while Rupert was hunched over his texts at the table in the corner. Ever since they had returned from the estate, Rupert had been buried in his texts, translating and cross-referencing what they had discovered, as well as consulting the Basheer Medallion. If Rupert would let him near the texts, Ethan would have lent a hand. But as had always been the case, the man became very territorial once he was onto something. Ripper had always preferred to work alone, and Rupert seemed to as well. It was fine by Ethan. He had done more than enough research to last him a lifetime. He was happy to have Rupert take over.   
  
“Of course!” Rupert exclaimed with disgust, slamming the book shut and tossing his glasses carelessly aside. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”  
  
“I take it the passage doesn’t meet with your approval,” Ethan said lightly, switching off the telly. Whatever Rupert discovered had to be more interesting than anything the machine was offering.  
  
Ripper flickered briefly in the glare Rupert threw at Ethan. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you wrote the bloody thing.”  
  
“Well, you know, I always was fairly adept at time travel,” Ethan replied dryly. If Rupert was accusing him of something, it had to be good.  
  
Rupert sighed. “Don’t be an ass your entire life.”  
  
Ethan waited. “You going to keep me in suspense all night and continue whining all night, or are you going to share?”  
  
The legal pad ricocheted off Ethan’s knee before landing on the bed. Ripper smiled.  
  
“Cute.” Ethan shook his head, then looked down at the tablet. The yellow paper was almost completely filled with Rupert’s elegant but cramped script. Partial translations here, words scribbled out there. Looking at the man you would think he’d be much more organized in his thought process. In odd contrast, Ethan liked things in order on paper, clear delineations from one thought to the next. Probably said something about them, but he really didn’t care to give it much thought.  
  
“It’s at the bottom,” Rupert said impatiently.  
  
Finding it, Ethan read it over. Oh, this was priceless. He almost wished he had come up with this. To Rupert he said, “You declined restoration wrong. I think you want to use the dative not accusative form, even if the latter sounds better.”  
  
Rupert’s face darkened, warning Ethan not to push him. Which only encouraged Ethan all the more. Rupert would never learn.  
  
“You’re certain it’s the Rite of Ash’r?” Ethan asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.  
  
“That’s what it says, doesn’t it?” Rupert barked, getting up from his chair to pace the small room.  
  
“Well, a grammatical error is one thing. The wrong ritual . . .” he trailed off.   
  
He could see Rupert’s jaw clench. “Yes, Ethan, it is without a doubt the Rite of Ash’r and only the Rite of Ash’r. Not that there aren’t hundreds of other purification rituals out that the Order could have used instead. No, this has to be the fucking Rite of Ash’r.”  
  
“You should be happy, Ripper. You used to be able to do that rite in your sleep.” And he actually had managed to really do it in his sleep, or near sleep, a number of times. Quite convenient when they had been summoning Eyghon.   
  
The man stopped in front of the bed and looked down at Ethan. “So did you,” Rupert said quietly, the anger not as apparent in his voice now.  
  
“Things change,” Ethan said, keeping his tone casual as he tossed the legal pad back to Rupert.  
  
He caught it in mid-air, looking at translation again. “It’s too easy.”  
  
“Easy isn’t necessarily bad,” Ethan said pointedly. “You know, not every cult makes their rituals insanely difficult. It’s likely just the first in a series of steps to get to the final result. The difficulty lies in not knowing the entire ritual ahead of time. Rather ingenious, really,” he finished admiringly, reclining back once more. “If you don’t do one step right, you can’t get to the next.”  
  
Rupert grimaced, still not moving from where he stood. “And that makes it so much better not knowing what you’re getting into.”  
  
“I always like a bit of mystery, keeps things interesting,” Ethan said off-handedly.  
  
“Yes, and look where it got you.”  
  
Ethan frowned. “That’s a bit below the belt even for you, Rupert.”  
  
There was a flicker of regret in Rupert’s eyes, but it was quickly shoved aside. He turned and headed back to the table. “Just stating the facts,” he said as he sat down.  
  
“Cruelty only suits you when you enjoy it, Ripper. Otherwise it’s just pathetic,” Ethan retorted sharply, swinging his legs off the bed. This wasn’t a discussion one had lying down.  
  
“I’m not doing it, Ethan,” he said flatly, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“Well, I bloody well can’t do it. All empty, remember?” Ethan said in exasperation.   
  
“No.”  
  
“It’s your fault I’m in this mess to begin with, Rupert. By rights you should fix it.” He hadn’t wanted to there yet. It was a cheap shot, and frankly he was capable of better. And it had been his desperation card. They had just broached the subject, he wasn’t desperate yet. Frustration pure and simple had driven the outburst. That was all. And the fact that the L’ixre Risrex was now a very obtainable reality.  
  
Rupert gave a short laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”  
  
Nothing to do but play it out now. “It is your fault.”  
  
“No, Ethan, you drove me to it.,” he said forcefully. “And it’s not like I knew what they were capable of at the time.”   
  
“Ignorance is not an excuse.”  
  
“Buffy nearly killed me.”  
  
“I would have stopped her.”  
  
“Yes, telling her I had eaten myself was extremely helpful,” Rupert said sarcastically.  
  
“No, but it was funny.” Ethan smiled slightly, but he remained on guard.  
  
Rupert glanced at the ceiling as if for guidance. “One of the many reasons why I am not going to help you.”  
  
“You are going to help me, Rupert,” Ethan said evenly, tired of the game. “You are going to help me because there is no one else who can.”  
  
“You seemed to have managed quite well without your magic for the last, what, three years.”  
  
“Three years is one thing. The rest of my bloody life is something different altogether.” Ethan could feel his anger rising. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, knew it’d play out something like this, and yet . . . “I have enemies, Rupert. Very powerful enemies. Enemies that I would have had a hard time not falling prey to in peak condition. And now I’m worse off than the regular ignorant git walking down the street.”  
  
“You made your choices,” Rupert responded, but there was a hint of wavering in his tone.   
  
“I didn’t choose this! I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy,” Ethan admitted after a moment. “Isn’t part of your grand mission to help those that can’t help themselves? Well, now that’s me. And like it or not, by rights you have to help me.”  
  
There was no longer any doubt; he could tell his words finally struck a chord. The frown told him that while Rupert didn’t like this one bit that Ethan was right.  
  
“Two conditions,” Rupert relented, replacing his glasses as if to make certain he wouldn’t miss anything in Ethan’s response. “One, I reserve the right to terminate this ritual at any point in time. No argument.”  
  
Shrugging, Ethan nodded his agreement. If all went well, that would never be an issue.  
  
“And two, if I do this for you, after everything is done, we’re through. I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want to hear of you. And I don’t ever want to see you again,” Rupert said with finality.  
  
Again, if all went well, this wouldn’t be an issue. But supposing Rupert didn’t change his mind by the end of the venture, it was a small price to pay.   
  
“While I can’t absolutely guarantee that second caveat, you have my word on the rest,” Ethan said, walking over to Rupert and holding out his hand. “If you want me gone at the end of this, you have my word that I will be gone.”  
  
Rupert seemed to mull this over, hesitating before shaking Ethan’s hand. “Completely out of my life,” he restated.  
  
Ethan shook the other man’s hand. “Whatever you desire, Rupert.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

There were bad ideas and there were bad ideas. This was the bad idea that put all others to shame.   
  
Giles stood in front of the Gate of Baale’n. It really wasn’t much of a gate, just a weathered, incomplete semi-circle of stones on a hilltop not five kilometers from Aleveria. Common sense kept screaming at him to run the other way. But he stayed.   
  
What it all came down to was guilt. Ethan brought this down on his own head. His actions drove Giles to turn him over to the Initiative. And yet Giles ultimately felt guilty. He had seen what the Initiative was capable of, but he had trusted Riley, and he was almost as arrogant as Ethan was with regards to Ethan’s ability to get out of the tightest of situation.   
  
Were the situations reversed, Ethan would laugh and walk away, no matter how much begging Giles did. Ripper would have done the same. And that more than anything else was why he was going through with this. Giles hadn’t been Ripper for a long time. He had spent the last nearly thirty years trying to make up for the bastard he had been. There was no undoing what had been done. The only thing he could do was be a better person and help where he would have once done harm.  
  
“Just because the sign proclaims this as a spot for reflection doesn’t mean you have to do it,” Ethan said snidely, coming up the hill behind Giles.  
  
“You don’t want me to do this? Fine,” Giles said, turning and holding the knapsack out to Ethan.  
  
The man shoved it back at him. “Do get over yourself, Rupert,” Ethan retorted sharply. “You would be a much happier person if you learned to take life a bit less seriously.”   
  
“I can think of several things that would make me a much happier person,” Giles said pointedly.  
  
Ethan’s face darkened momentarily, but an instant later the casual smirk was firmly in place again. “Well, if you’d stop dawdling you’d be much happier much sooner.”   
  
“Fuck you,” Giles muttered, turning his back on Ethan as he sifted through the bag’s contents.  
  
“If only,” Ethan laughed.  
  
Naturally the man couldn’t make this easy on him. No, not one bit.  
  
Giles hadn’t performed the Rite of Ash’r since they day they had murdered Randall. The rite had been essential in controlling Eyghon. At least one person, ideally more, had to be open to receive the energy generated by Eyghon’s possession. If not, the demon could harness that energy to break free. Which had nearly happened that day. They had grown complacent in the summoning, and in that complacency had become arrogant.  
  
While time had done nothing to diminish Giles’ memory of that day, it hadn’t obscured his remembrance of the rite, either. He could recall it just as clearly as if he had last done it yesterday.  
  
Giles knelt, his knees cracking audibly in the still morning air. Christ but he was getting too old for this. He removed the items from his bag, trying to ignore Ethan’s presence. This would be much easier if the man had stayed in the car and waited, or back at the hotel. But that was like asking the sun not to set. Even if he couldn’t be involved directly in the ritual, Ethan wanted to be there to see it done.  
  
Giles carefully combined the ingredients in the mortar, grinding until he had a thick paste. Then he worked the pestle a bit more for good measure.  
  
He half-expected a snide comment from Ethan on how long he was taking, but there was no response other than the distant cry of a hawk closing in on its prey. Whatever faults the man had, and he had many, Ethan at least knew enough not to disrupt a person’s concentration while doing a working. Giles was certain he would have plenty to say once the Rite of Ash’r was completed.  
  
According to the passage Giles had translated, he needed to perform the rite before passing through the entrance to the circle. There, it was safe to assume, the next step would be revealed to him. What that next step was, he had no idea. And it was the unknown that gave him the most trepidation. Giles knew better than to perform a ritual of any sort without knowing the outcome. Even in his youth, he hadn’t been foolish enough to fumble around blindly with powers he didn’t fully comprehend. Ripper may have been rash, but he also liked to know what he was up against, even if he preferred the most perilous of outcomes.  
  
Pushing his thoughts and reservations to the side, Giles shrugged out of his coat, stowing his glasses carefully in the pocket, and picked up the bowl. After taking a deep breath, he dipped the middle finger of his right hand in the paste.  
  
“ _Ash’r, Ash’r, laduane Ash’r_ ,” he chanted, spreading the mixture under first his left eye then his right. He continued, “ _Sivete lemur aldon, Ash’r_.”  
  
The chant and anointing was repeated three more times for his third eye, throat and heart.  
  
“ _Ilya Ash’r duon labar. Labar es’si firnach Ash’r._ ” A tingling began where the mixture touched his skin, growing warm as it soaked into his flesh. Christ but it hurt. The pain was one thing he had forgotten about the rite. Eyes watering, he pressed on, clearing his mind of thought and sensation. “ _Appri viluai riin macet. Ash’r, Ash’r, labar, labar Ash’r._ ”  
  
The world was silent, oppressive, hanging heavy with anticipation.  
  
Rising, Giles walked over the threshold of the gateway and thought no more of the world.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Rupert never looked more striking than when he was in conflict with himself. Self-flagellation and stubborn determination warring with each other for dominance. Oh, it was a good show.  
  
Ethan couldn’t help but smile from where he leaned against a tree, watching Rupert take every ounce of his frustration out on the ingredients he was grinding together. Tempted though he was to make a scathing remark, Ethan held his tongue. He did occasionally know when to keep silent. It wasn’t often, but it did happen.  
  
What surprised Ethan the most was how relieved he felt when Rupert finally started the ritual. While he had been nearly certain his old friend would go through with it, there was that tiny prickle of doubt that wouldn’t be silent until things were set in motion.  
  
Rupert’s chanting started out low, barely audible, not completely confident. It grew louder and stronger with each successive anointment.  
  
Ethan could tell the moment the rite began to take effect, Rupert’s shoulders tensing as the paste seeped into his skin, burning as it purged the vessel, made him ready.   
  
The change in air pressure nearly drove Ethan to his knees. This was the most infuriating part of what the Initiative had done to him. They had stolen his magic, but left him more sensitive to it than he had ever been. It was why the brief contact with Rupert the other night had left him shaking, wanting. His body knew what was missing, recognized what had once filled it, sought it out, but could never quite capture it.  
  
When they had first released him, Ethan sought out the nearest magic dealer he could find, think that a quick dose might kick start things. That was how he came to discover his enhanced sensitivity to magic in any form. It was worse than any withdrawal. He was worse than a junkie grown immune to a fix. It didn’t matter how much the supplier fed him, it wouldn’t take. He could feel it, taste it, practically see it, but he couldn’t have it.  
  
Needless to say, he hadn’t attempted that again. If the experience hadn’t been enough to deter him, the week of being unable to stomach more than water did.  
  
Fortunately, with encounters like this, where there was no direct contact with the magic being conducted or forces being manipulated, the withdrawal-like symptoms only lasted for a few hours and weren’t nearly half as incapacitating.  
  
Ethan eased himself to the ground, sitting at the base of the tree just as Rupert stood and stepped into the stone semi-circle, disappearing from sight.  
  
Not entirely unexpected. Nevertheless, it gave Ethan a moment’s pause, wondering if perhaps attempting to find out the next step of the ritual wouldn’t have been such a waste of time after all. Well, nothing to do for it now but wait and see. Hardly his strongest suit, but he really had little choice in the matter, and the dizziness and nausea precluded any other activity.  
  
So he sat and waited, bathed in the ebb and flow of energies of the area while the shadows of morning shortened as noon approached and passed. His eyes never left the Gateway of Baale’n the entire time, knowing it was impossible and yet trying to see beyond.  
  
Around two-thirty, according to his watch, Ethan finally felt capable enough of standing. Which was a good thing, as his patience had been more than pushed to its limits. Using the tree for leverage, he pulled himself to his feet, pleased to note that the world was mostly steady once more.  
  
Ethan made his way to the unimpressive Gateway of Baale’n, the energy radiating from it growing stronger as he approached. It was a portal of some sort, that much was obvious. To where, he couldn’t even begin to guess, although the Order of Baale’n-Dûor had favored a handful of pocket dimensions. He tentatively waved his hand over the barrier. Just air, maybe slightly thicker than on the outside, but nothing remarkable. As he was walking around to inspect the other side, there was an audible pop.  
  
Rupert emerged from thin air a moment later, looking around as if he were seeing the place for the first time. When his gaze fell upon Ethan, his eyes glittered dangerously, hand shooting out to grab a hold of Ethan’s shirtfront, dragging him close, close enough for Ethan to know that without a doubt the man still got hard after a successful spell.   
  
Before Ethan could say anything, Rupert’s mouth crashed against his, hungry, heedless, hell-bent on domination. Ethan’s body only knew one response to this attack—submission. He opened under the onslaught, welcoming the other man’s aggression. It didn’t matter how many years or what came between them, this never changed.  
  
When he pulled back, Ripper was grinning in savage delight. “Hullo, Ethan. Miss me?”  
  
“Ripper,” Ethan said with wonder. He had given up of up ever seeing Ripper again. Ripper complete and whole, not filtered through Rupert’s upstanding persona in moments as quick and brutal as his flashes of rage. Tamped down when he regained control of himself. This was no glimpse. Rupert Giles had taken a backseat, and for the first time in nearly thirty years, Ripper was in control.  
  
“Is that the best you can manage, Ethan? I had expected a warmer welcome than that from you.” Ripper released him with a snort of derision. “It seems I have been away too long.”  
  
Ethan crossed his arms in what he hoped would appear as defiant disregard. Truth was it was more or less an attempt to hold himself together, keep the shaking at bay from the loss of Ripper’s direct contact. Oh, yes, this venture was going to be a real pleasure cruise. The man was radiating power at the moment, thick waves breaking over Ethan, mocking him.  
  
“So things went well in there?” Ethan asked for lack of anything better to say.  
  
“Met a girl, she opened my eyes,” Ripper replied with a dismissive shrug. “But I’m not much in the mood for discussing business at the moment.”  
  
“What are you in the mood for?” The question was completely without a suggestive tone, held more annoyance than anything else; the realization took Ethan somewhat by surprise. But at the moment he was in the mood to discuss business.   
  
“Famished. Didn’t we pass a bistro on our way out here?”  
  
“As I was still mostly asleep at that ungodly hour, I really couldn’t say. But I don’t think it would be wrong to assume that the village has some form of eating establishment.”  
  
Ripper’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem, Ethan?”  
  
“I’ve only been watching the shadows move for the last seven hours,” he groused. “How could I have a problem? The least you could do is tell me what you found out in there.”  
  
“Told you, not much in the mood for business at the moment,” Ripper said easily as he walked over and threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulders. “Aren’t you always telling me to relax?”  
  
Contact reestablished, Ethan did relax, somewhat.  
  
“Come on, we’ll go grab a bite. You’ll feel better. I’ll feel better. Then we’ll talk business, alright?” Ripper offered chummily. Ripper indulgent was never a good sign, but Ethan knew better than to argue.  
  
“Fine, we’ll go eat,” Ethan agreed, making a point of breaking away and heading toward the car. It was a measure of how pissed he was that he willingly chose nausea to prove a point.  
  
  
  
Unsurprisingly, Ripper did not deign to talk business after eating. He instead seemed perfectly content to sip his ale, chat up the waitress, and watch the other patrons with feigned disinterest. Ethan didn’t even attempt to broach the subject. Ripper did what he wanted in his own good time and nothing would convince him otherwise. It was one of the very few things Rupert, his more outstanding self, had going for him; he was a bit more malleable. There had to be a trade off somewhere, Ethan supposed.  
  
They didn’t leave the bistro until well into the evening, by which time Ethan was pissy and Ripper smug. Ethan knew Ripper was holding out to infuriate him, which only angered him further.  
  
Back at the hotel, Ethan only followed Ripper into his room in the hope that he could grab a few books and Rupert’s notes to see if there were any clues to what came next.  
  
Ethan was barely inside the door when Ripper slammed him back against it, the force of impact closing the door with a reverberating thud. Ripper reached behind Ethan and threw the lock, his broad body pinning Ethan against the solid wood, heading dipping to scent along Ethan’s neck.  
  
“They took it from you and yet the chaos still lingers on you, sharp and bitter like the darkest chocolate,” Ripper observed, tongue darting out, flat and firm to trail over the tender skin of Ethan’s neck.  
  
It was extremely difficult to remain pissed at the man when he went and did something like that. Ethan was hard-pressed not to groan aloud. Now if Ripper had chosen this distraction much sooner, Ethan wouldn’t have given a second thought to what the next step in the ritual was.  
  
“Do you know how many nights Rupert has woken up, the taste of you a phantom of flavor driving him near mad with craving? You’re the forbidden fruit he gets himself off dreaming about in those cold, lonely, celibate nights.” Ripper smiled ferally. “I always looked forward to your visits, Ethan. They were the only time he let his guard down enough to let me out. Then you had to go and ruin things with that Fyarl stunt of yours.”  
  
Having no reason to lie, Ethan admitted, “I figured it was the only way you’d take my warning about the Initiative seriously. You had to see it first-hand.”  
  
“Too bad it backfired on you. Though most of your plans do backfire.”  
  
“Only when you’re involved.”  
  
“Make you nervous, do I?” Ripper laughed.  
  
“Hiding behind children?” Ethan smirked. “Yes, that’s extremely intimidating.”  
  
Ripper’s eyes flashed danger. Didn’t like that, did he? Well now.  
  
Naturally, Ethan had to push the envelope a little farther. “You used to be quite the force to be reckoned with, Ripper. Never said no to a fight,” he said sadly. “And yet you’ve spent the last decade of your life taking orders from an ex-cheerleader with just enough instinct to know that the pointy end of the stick goes into the other guy.”  
  
Pain blossomed along the left side of Ethan’s face as the back of Ripper’s hand struck without mercy or hesitation. Tasting the sharp, coppery tang of his own blood Ethan grinned. “There’s my Ripper.”  
  
“You always did enjoy pain too much for your own good,” Ripper growled, his fingers fisting in Ethan’s shirt as he backed them away from the door and into the room.  
  
Ethan stumbled as Ripper suddenly released him. Unable to catch himself, inertia carried Ethan to the ground to crash on his hands and knees. A knowing hand briefly caressed his head before tangling in the long hairs and yanking Ethan upright so that he was kneeling before Ripper.  
  
“Always where I liked you best,” Ripper commented, his voice rough and pleased.  
  
The last time they were together in Sunnydale, both of them more drunk than was wise, Rupert had been too melancholy, too lonely to be rough. Their fucking had still been heated and fierce, but it had lacked this element of domination amidst Rupert’s desperation.  
  
“Not just me, Ripper,” Ethan corrected, smiling as he watched Ripper unfasten his belt and work at the button on his jeans. “You loved anyone who went to their knees before you.”  
  
“But especially you,” Ripper amended, baring his teeth. He had pushed his pants down enough that Ethan could see his erection straining against the thin cotton of his undershorts. “Others dropped willingly. You, on the other hand, always took a bit of convincing.”  
  
Meeting Ripper’s eyes, Ethan said with complete confidence, “And none of them gave it to you half so well.”  
  
The fingers against Ethan’s scalp stretched and retracted. “I wouldn’t go quite as far as that.”  
  
Not one to ever be left completely out of the game, Ethan reached up, brushing the back of his knuckles over the tented cotton. Ripper hissed with the contact.  
  
“How long’s it been this time, Ripper?” Ethan inquired, twisting his hand up to catch the elastic and drag the material down. Ripper’s cock rose thick and flush with life and blood and power. “Six months? A year? Two years? Longer?” With each question Ethan ran his hand over the soft, giving, sensitive yet durable flesh.  
  
Ripper’s free hand captured his wrist, stilling his teasing. “Too long for you to be wasting my time with stupid questions.”  
  
“Such impatience,” Ethan tsked. “It’s unseemly.”  
  
The grip on Ethan’s hair tightened, tugging sharply. “Ethan,” Ripper growled in warning.  
  
Deciding he didn’t want to piss Ripper off too much at this point, Ethan lifted the hand not currently in Ripper’s possession and curled it intently around the other man’s cock. “You know this would go much better if you’d ease up a bit,” Ethan hinted. The moment Ripper’s grip relaxed, Ethan leaned forward, capturing Ripper with his mouth in an instant, taking him as far he could manage without gagging. Ethan pulled back just as quickly, hand following his mouth up the shaft. He stopped at the head, giving lavish attention to the sensitive cap, tonguing the surface and mapping every contour. And then he went down again, taking his time now, slowly remembering, memorizing before moving on. Heat and salt and a rhythm not entirely guided by blood flow drove Ethan on. There was an almost electric sensation as he worked, the power with in Ripper fairly sparking across his tongue. Ripper’s strangled sounds of pleasure were usually Ethan’s payment in this exchange. But now he was after something else. As Ripper drew nearer to climax, Ethan could feel the power rising closer to the surface. If he pushed the man a little harder, a little faster, maybe just maybe he could share of some of it.  
  
Then Ripper was pulling away, leaving Ethan’s work unfinished, leaving Ethan unsatisfied.  
  
But before Ethan could even think of protesting, Ripper spoke, his voice low and open to no contradiction. “I am going to fuck you, Ethan. Fuck you until you’re screaming my name. And not until I have you begging will I come. Is that understood?”  
  
“Don’t we have lofty goals,” Ethan said tartly, rising as steadily to his feet as he could manage. Adrenaline was taking hold with anticipation, as was the craving for what he had almost had again, however briefly. He needed contact with Ripper again, but he never willing rolled over, no matter how desperate he got.  
  
“Strip. Now,” Ripper commanded, jeans and boxers still hugging his thighs. He made no move to lift or remove them completely, just crossed his arms and waited for Ethan’s compliance, his cock bobbing faintly in time to his heartbeat.  
  
Seeing no advantage in refusing at the moment, Ethan did just that. He stripped, taking his time, but not prolonging it more than necessary, either. He attended to each button on his shirt, cuffs as well as the front, before slipping it off and laying it carefully over the nearby chair. His hands moved to his belt, but stilled in mid-action as he noted Ripper’s eyes narrow in intense study.  
  
“What?” Ethan asked, curious, resuming his task as if he had never hesitated.  
  
“No scars,” Ripper observed with the barest hint of amazement apparent in his tone.  
  
“From the Initiative?” His companion nodded. Ethan shrugged in response as he slipped his belt out of the loops around his waist. “Surprised me, too. But you know government agencies, they do enjoy stealth and cover-up. They’ll poke and prod to seek out and define every last molecule, but they abhor leaving a trail. I suppose scars are too visible of a marker for a covert agency.”  
  
It left him without any tangible proof to validate those two years of his life. Just memories and the lack of his magic, nothing physically detectable. It was enough to make you question your sanity at times. Did it really happen? Or had it been some horrible dream? Which, in the end, was exactly what they wanted you to think.  
  
Shoving the thoughts into the dark corner where they were best kept, Ethan kicked his loafers off and away before undoing his pants and letting them pool at his feet. Reaching down, he picked up the garment up and lay it next to his shirt. In another life, he would have let his clothing lay heaped on the floor, but he had more of an appreciation for his nice clothes these days, liked to keep them nice.  
  
Finally, he stood naked before Ripper, feet nearly shoulder-width apart, hands casually at his sides. He had no shame in his appearance, knew without a doubt that he still looked good. Perhaps not the picture of youthful vigor he had once been, but age would never hang heavy on his frame.   
  
“Turn,” Ripper instructed. Ethan did, and Ripper gave a half-amused laugh when he had completed his circle. “Still as vain as you ever were.”  
  
“Vanity isn’t a sin, Ripper,” Ethan said smugly, looking pointedly at Ripper’s thickened waistline. “You used to think the same.”  
  
“My lack of vanity, as you call it, doesn’t seem to have any adverse effects on you,” Ripper said pointedly, eyes dropping below Ethan’s waist to where his cock idled half-erect, waiting for things to progress.  
  
Ethan crossed his arms, considering Ripper’s mostly dressed state. “You planning on joining me any time soon, mate? Or are you just going to stand there staring at me all night? Not that I mind.”  
  
Ripper didn’t make any move to remedy his state of dress. Instead, he gave Ethan a new set of orders. “Go kneel at the head of the bed, facing the wall. You will remain like that until I tell you otherwise. Do not turn. Do not speak. Understood?”  
  
The man had always loved playing this like he was the one in charge. It was almost endearing. Ethan nodded to Ripper in outward acquiescence before making his way to the bed. He threw back the comforter, throwing the pillows out of the way, then made his way to the middle of the head of the bed. Doing as Ripper had ordered, he knelt facing the wall, hands wrapping lightly over the surprisingly well-made wooden headboard. While these lodgings weren’t near as posh as the one in Rome, Rupert still hadn’t skimped on quality. However, Ethan’s praise didn’t extend to the wallpaper, a hideous yet benign floral pattern that he had far too much time to study up close while he waited.  
  
The soft impact of Ripper’s clothes hitting the floor preceded the man’s movement toward the bed. Tempted though he was to turn and look, Ethan kept his eyes to the wall. However, the not speaking part he couldn’t stand for.  
  
“Weren’t you just complaining about my vanity, Ripper? You can’t have let yourself go so far that you’re that embarrassed for me to see you undress,” Ethan teased.  
  
He let out a sharp hiss of pain as his head was yanked backward. Were it not for the grip he had on the headboard, he would have fallen to the bed. Not that he would have fallen that far with Ripper suddenly behind him, pressed close so his cock rested heavy against his ass.  
  
Ripper leaned close to Ethan’s ear, his voice quiet, measured when he spoke. “What did I say?”  
  
“Don’t move. Don’t speak.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“I didn’t move,” Ethan replied.  
  
“No, you didn’t move,” Ripper agreed patronizingly.  
  
“I did half of what you asked,” Ethan said lightly. “Considering my track record, that’s more than you usually get out of me.”  
  
His head was pulled back farther, straining his neck almost uncomfortably.  
  
“You know I’m never content with half measures, Ethan. It’s been awhile, but surely even you can remember that,” Ripper said, his voice touched with honey. His teeth clamped sharply on Ethan’s ear, tugging before releasing. “I expect complete compliance.”  
  
“What can I say, I never know when to keep my mouth shut.” He twisted his head as much as Ripper’s grip would allow and flashed the man a wicked grin. “Maybe if you offered me an incentive I might manage to comply with your wishes.”  
  
Ripper released Ethan’s head and moved completely behind him, out of his line of sight. Coarse, callused palms coasted down the planes of Ethan’s back, seeming to reacquaint themselves with an old canvas.  
  
“So tell me, Ethan,” Ripper inquired, as one of his hands wandered over Ethan’s ass, fingers barely delving into the crevasse, hinting at future intent before moving on, “how long has it been for you?”  
  
For once Ethan kept his mouth shut.  
  
“And here you were so talkative a moment ago.” Ripper’s voice had taken on the quality of fine silk. “C’mon, Ethan,” he wheedled, one finger seeking a little deeper until it encountered the tight ring of muscle that lay hidden there. He pressed insistently, begging entrance. “How long, Ethan?” he asked, applying even more force.  
  
“You never answered my question, why should I bother answering yours?” Ethan retorted defiantly, struggling with his body’s desire to open up to Ripper.  
  
“‘Too long’ seemed like answer enough to me.” Ripper didn’t back off.  
  
“And entirely too subjective to be satisfying,” he countered. “I know for a fact you won’t accept the same answer from me.”  
  
“Try me,” Ripper purred.  
  
Before Ethan could even consider replying, Ripper’s other hand wrapped tightly around his cock, taking him by complete surprise and finally granting Ripper’s insistent finger entry.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Ethan groaned as Ripper slipped further inside, his forehead falling to rest against the hideous wallpaper. Jesus, it had been too long. Not since Sunnydale. For this. There had been a number of ravishing women and a couple dazzling young men in the last three years he had fucked, but being fucked? No, not since that night in Sunnydale.  
  
He was pulled from his thoughts as Ripper added a second finger, moving in and out with sure, steady precision, stretching Ethan by slow degrees.  
  
“This is what you’ve been after all along, isn’t it?” Ripper asked, his fingers just bumping against Ethan’s prostate, enough to acknowledge its presence before resuming their previous task.  
  
“I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Ethan grunted as Ripper worked in a third finger. “I know for a fact it’s crossed yours.”  
  
“Rupert’s secret shame,” Ripper stated. “One of the things I can say for repression is that the dreams are without compare.”  
  
Abruptly, Ripper pulled out, leaving Ethan open, empty and aching. When Ripper’s other hand left his hip, severing contact completely, Ethan nearly cried out at the loss as the world seemed to tilt off its axis. His nails dug into the headboard as he tried to force the world back into some semblance of order, to not reveal how weak he really was to Ripper.  
  
“Ethan?” It was odd to hear compassion in Ripper’s voice. The hand that came to rest on Ethan’s shoulder helped him focus.  
  
Swallowing, he forced lightness he didn’t feel into his voice. “What are you waiting on, Ripper, bloody Christmas?”  
  
“Something like that,” Ripper said, the alien emotion still present, the hand moving from Ethan’s shoulder and down to his hip again, never breaking contact.  
  
Ethan could only imagine how Ripper would mock him for this later. Frankly, he was surprised he wasn’t being mocked right now.  
  
But surprise didn’t last long as all thought was obliterated as Ripper’s cock began slowly pushing into him.  
  
“Just fuck me, Ripper,” he begged, not liking this gentler side to his old lover.  
  
“I’m not rushing this, Ethan,” Ripper stated. “When I said it had been too long, I meant it.”  
  
Fully sheathed, Ripper rested warm and strong against Ethan’s back.  
  
“How I could walk away from this . . . Christ,” Ripper murmured.  
  
And then he was pulling back, drawing his cock out almost completely before thrusting back in with more force. Each time the pace quickened ever so slightly, Ripper pounding home just al little harder. Ethan lost himself in the sensations. No one could fuck him like Ripper, no one’s cock or fingers felt quite so good. It was why, after their group went their separate ways after Randall’s death, that Ethan had only been fucked a handful of times by anyone who wasn’t Ripper.  
  
It wasn’t until Ripper’s hand wrapped around Ethan’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts that Ethan realized how close he was to coming. Climax had somehow become inconsequential in this encounter for him. Hell, for the mood Ripper had been initially, Ethan expected him to not even bother. He felt his balls tighten in the familiar response, but fought against his climax, holding it back. Not yet.  
  
Ripper caught on. “Oh no, you’re not holding back on me now,” he growled, redoubling his efforts.  
  
“No,” Ethan countered, hanging on the headboard for all he was worth. “You don’t want to play this game, Ripper. You know I outlast you every single time.”  
  
It had been one of the few things that Ripper had never been able to beat him at. Ripper bested him in physical prowess and in magical workings, but Ethan had always won this little contest. He only came before Ripper by choice, and he chose not to now.  
  
“Have I mentioned lately how much I despise you?” Ripper seethed, never breaking his rhythm.  
  
Not more than a minute later, Ripper’s body tensed behind Ethan, slamming forward one last time before release overcame him, shooting hot and hard, deep into Ethan.  
  
And in that moment Ethan felt it, felt what had been missing for so long, and felt it as his own. Ripper’s magic washed through him, radiating out through every vessel to every empty cell. In that instant he was complete.  
  
Then it was over.  
  
He came with a hoarse cry, mourning even while the ecstasy of climax flooded through his system.  
  
As they leaned there, recovering, Ethan knew that they had to be successful in obtaining the L’ixre Risrex. They had to. Because he was not going to spend the rest of his life a shell of the man he once was.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Crossing the threshold, Giles found himself in the same field he had been in a moment before, but morning was now night, the stars shining starkly in the dark sky. The three-quarters moon bathed the area in pale, never white light.  
  
She stood there, watching him curiously, the flaming red of her hair barely subdued by the glow of the moon. The garment she wore only concealed her limbs, hanging loose and tantalizing on her hips. Her breasts lay full and round against her chest, alabaster skin smooth and unblemished. The painting had been remarkable but hadn’t done justice to the reality of her.  
  
“Buena sera, Rupert,” she greeted, her voice low, seductive, promising. But there was also a hint of sincere kindness that put him at ease. “I’ve been waiting for you.”  
  
He was certain that was what she would say to any who found her, but that didn’t mean it was without effect.  
  
“You doubt me.” She smiled, her tone amused. “It’s to be expected. But I really have been waiting for you, Rupert Giles. You aren’t the first to decipher Salvatore’s message, and you won’t be the last. But you are the only one I have allowed to meet me. You should feel honored, and part of you is, but most of you distrusts me. With good reason.”  
  
“Why me?” he asked, eager to leave the place. Part of it was due to the Rite of Ash’r, making him more receptive to the forces that surrounded them. It was a big risk, opening himself up like this after so many years of reigning himself in, shutting out what he had once sought out.  
  
“Why not you?” she countered. “You can’t run from yourself forever, Rupert. Have you never wondered how much happier you would be if you faced things instead of hiding from them? You’ve fulfilled all of your responsibilities. There’s no one else to live your life for but yourself now. You can do that without guilt for the first time in your life.”  
  
“I am living my life for myself.”  
  
“No, Rupert, you are not,” she said firmly, but the kindness was still there. She approached him then, stopping with about a foot between them. She lifted her left hand, her index finger brushing softly over the places he had anointed himself for the rite. “But you will. You think you are doing this out of some obligation to Ethan? Out of remorse for what he suffered? That is how you justify it to yourself, but that is not why.”  
  
“And I suppose you are going to tell me why,” he replied tersely, ignoring his body’s response to the forces swirling around them, to the stunning woman before him.  
  
“Of course not.” The rest of her fingers joined the one that rested over his heart. “You already know why, you just don’t want to see it yet. But you will, in time.”  
  
“Sounds like a very good reason for me to take the next flight back home.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have started this journey if that was your intent.” Her fingers splayed against his chest, her eyes closing as she seemed to get lost in thought. “Ripper is getting restless. Better to let him out by choice than have him force his way out.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No?” The bemused smile was back. “Things always go easier when you don’t fight them. And the more you open yourself to this,” her free hand motioned to the world around them, “the more difficult that fight is going to be. And you will lose it, in the end.”  
  
Giles tried to back away and found that he couldn’t.  
  
“Words are easy to ignore, I forget that,” she said., becoming more business-like in her demeanor. “Your next destination is Florence. There is an item in the catacombs that will direct you from there. What the item is, you will know when you find it. All those books you brought have to have something in them, no?”   
  
Cryptic words and cryptic directions, not that he had expected any different.  
  
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him down, pulling him closer. “I have one more thing before you leave me,” she whispered. “Where words of warning fall short, only experience can make an impression.”  
  
Then she was kissing him, mouth pliant yet demanding, enticing, drawing him out. When he responded, it happened. His objections, his concerns, they just disappeared. None of it mattered. Not now with the soft body pressed needy against his, demanding more. Not now with the energy swirling around begging to be taken, to be used by him.  
  
His arms were suddenly empty and he looked up to find her a few respectable feet away studying, the pleasure at what she saw apparent.  
  
“Enjoy your day,” she said pleasantly, before turning and walking lightly into the night.  
  
Ripper hadn’t felt this good in ages. Smiling slightly, he turned back the way he had come and left the circle, blinking as he stepped into daylight. Even after his eyes adjusted everything seemed brighter than when he had left it, clearer somehow, more real. He had missed that. When he spotted Ethan, Ripper smiled. He needed to properly thank the man for giving him back his freedom.  
  
  
  
Giles’ first thought upon waking was how nice it was not to wake up in an empty bed. The warmth of another body and the comfort of being wrapped around welcoming, naked flesh—god, but it had been too long. He inhaled deeply, taking in too long absent scents of sex, sweat and the wholly unique musk of the person who shared his bed. Opening his eyes, he saw dark hair just barely flecked with grey, long enough to tangle his fingers in and guide the owner to do his bidding. But that was part of the fun, gaining dominance over someone whose personality and determination for control was as strong as your own.   
  
Unfortunately, his pleasure was soon overridden by reality reasserting itself, reminding Giles of just who it was that shared his bed.  
  
“Regained your senses, have you, Rupert?” Ethan chuckled, rolling so that he was now facing Giles, still mostly in contact.  
  
Giles looked into dark eyes too amused for their own good. A number of ways to punish that amusement immediately came to mind, not one of which would actually quash it.  
  
“Perhaps not completely,” Ethan observed with a knowing smirk, his hand just lightly grazing Giles’ semi-hard cock.   
  
“You’re a bastard, Ethan,” Giles said, rolling onto his back, away from Ethan’s touch, and staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. No, that wasn’t quite right. It actually all made perfect sense. He remembered everything with near picture perfect clarity. There was no sense to be made of it. The truth of the matter was that he wanted it to not make sense.  
  
“Since you’re determined to be all broody at the moment,” Ethan propped himself up on his right arm to peer down at Giles, “care to tell me what went on after you crossed through the Gateway of Baale’n?”   
  
“Not particularly.”  
  
“Obviously something happened,” Ethan pointed out. “While I would love to know what made you lighten up for a few hours, the more pressing matter is—”  
  
“Yes, she told me the next step,” Giles cut him off.  
  
“She told you? This the girl who opened your eyes?”  
  
“We need to retrieve an item from the Florence catacombs,” he said, knowing full well it wouldn’t put an end to the discussion.  
  
Ethan changed his tactic. “So what was she? Blonde? Brunette?”  
  
“Redhead.”  
  
Ethan grinned. “It wasn’t by any chance that enchanting girl from the painting in my shop, was it?”  
  
Enchanting certainly described Emerétzi’s muse, though not entirely in the way Ethan meant. “She’s not a girl,” Giles responded and went on to tell Ethan what had transpired in the circle.  
  
“After that, I left, saw you, and, well, you know the rest,” Giles finished, sighing wearily. He was sitting up now, staring at the wall, pointedly not looking at Ethan.   
  
“So naturally you’re going to ignore the girl, go back to being your repressed self until it destroys you, and make both of us miserable in the process. Is that about right?” Ethan summed up.  
  
Giles didn’t respond.   
  
He felt Ethan’s hand rest on his shoulder. “Rupert?”  
  
“Don’t touch me, Ethan,” he said through clenched teeth.  
  
The hand didn’t move. “I happen to agree with the girl.”  
  
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Giles muttered, tensing under the contact, not because he didn’t want Ethan to touch him, but because he wanted more. He wanted to push Ethan back on the bed and fuck him hard and fast so he could not think about what the woman had said to him and done to him and what it all meant just a little longer.  
  
Honestly, he agreed with them. The complete abandon he had yesterday, lack of concern for anything but his desire of the moment . . . it frightened him, because he wanted it back. As Ripper things were simpler—pleasure, power and the present. Living in the present meant you didn’t have to worry about the future and consequences. It was free self license to do what you wanted.  
  
For nearly five years, he had lived like that. In retrospect, those were five of the happiest years of his life. It all went to shit, yeah, but before it did . . . He had gotten scared, come face to face with mortality, and turned his back on it all. It wasn’t the fact that he had murdered one of his close friends, but realized that if one of the group could die, he could as well. And he hadn’t been ready to die. Not that the life of a Watcher was safe, but it was safe in comparison to the life he had led.  
  
But he had stopped being afraid of death a long time ago.  
  
That kind of thinking wasn’t leading into dangerous territory or anything.  
  
“I need to walk away from this now,” he told Ethan, but it was more of a plea than a statement of any real conviction.  
  
Ethan knew it too. “But you don’t want to, do you?”  
  
“No.” Giles wasn’t sure if he said the words aloud or not. His head fell forward to rest heavy on his forearms. “She was right,” he mumbled, “I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t intend to see it through.”  
  
He knew he was giving up some of his control of the situation with the admission, but he couldn’t much care at the moment. His defenses were low, and Ripper was louder than he had been in years.  
  
Ethan removed his hand. “So, Florence, yeah?” he asked, not gloating or pressing the issue further. Something for which Giles was very thankful.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

“Do you even know where you’re bloody going?” Ethan complained as he trudged after Rupert in the dank underground tunnel. They had been winding their way through the catacombs for a solid couple of hours guided by nothing more than Rupert’s fancy, Ethan suspected. No map, no plan, just Rupert and his flashlight leading the way somewhere. Aside from a few stray bones and several brave rats, they had come across nothing except more tunnels and more damp.  
  
The fact that Rupert didn’t immediately reply didn’t bode well for their current situation.  
  
Ethan stopped walking. Rupert continued on for about twenty paces or so before he seemed to realize he was alone. He turned, his flashlight sweeping over and momentarily blinding Ethan.  
  
“What is it, Ethan?” Rupert asked. He sounded very annoyed by the interruption. He was annoyed? Ethan frowned.  
  
“I asked you a simple question. The least you could do is answer it.”  
  
“Yes, Ethan, I know where we’re going,” his companion replied. “Now, can we keep moving?”  
  
Ethan stood his ground. “So, where are we going?”  
  
Rupert quickly closed the distance between them, the flashlight held like a weapon. The light threw his face into sharp relief. He wasn’t pleased. Ripper wasn’t pleased. Frankly, Ethan couldn’t care less. He had been playing nice with Rupert since that morning, not wanting him to bolt. But after walking for more than two hours in the clammy dimness of the catacombs and getting nowhere, his patience, short to begin with, was beyond being worn thin.  
  
“I know where we’re going,” Rupert repeated. “But if you have a problem with that, you can go back to the hotel.” His voice had a cutting edge to it when he spoke next. “It’s not like you can do much more than tag along and try my patience.”   
  
Looked like Ripper had been locked up too tight after his latest appearance. The comment was too nasty for Rupert’s usual standards. Interesting.  
  
“Seeing as I have a personal investment in this whole thing, staying behind doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Ethan said pointedly, staring the other man down. Occasionally, his slight advantage in height came in handy.  
  
Ripper wanted to strike him; Ethan could see that desire plainly written on Rupert’s face. But the man held back.   
  
“Just hit me and get it over with. You know you’ll feel better when you do,” Ethan taunted.  
  
Rupert’s jaw clenched in the low light, seeming to bite back his response. Instead of saying anything, however, he abruptly turned on his heel and started back down the corridor.   
  
Ethan struck out after him, almost having to jog to catch up.  
  
Rupert swung the flashlight right then left, setting off down the right fork.  
  
Ethan was about to say something when Rupert cut him off. “Don’t . . . say anything right now, alright?” There was a fine wire of tension threaded through the request. He seemed to be more irritable than normal, which made sense with everything that was going on. And yet . . .  
  
“What’s going on, Rupert?” Ethan asked, more concerned than he cared to admit.  
  
“Nothing,” Rupert said, quickening his pace. “I just don’t need to be distracted by your incessant whining at the moment.”  
  
Ethan laughed. “I asked you one simple question in two hours. I’m not certain how that constitutes incessant. Let alone whining.” Then he added, “If I were whining, I’d be asking if we were there yet.”   
  
“Ethan, please.” Rupert’s tone was pleading, but his pace never faltered.  
  
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Ethan realized. “But you can’t quit it, so you’re trying to lose yourself in the task at hand.”  
  
“And what, pray tell, am I worried about?” Rupert inquired, the flashlight quickly scanning the space ahead before he took a sharp left.  
  
“You’re worried that what happened yesterday is going to happen again.” Ethan waited for a response. This would really go a lot easier if Rupert would stop trudging through the dark for two minutes until they had this out. After getting no response, he raised his voice when he spoke again, “It will, you know. Emerétzi’s girl gave you a warning, and you’re going to ignore it.”   
  
“Was it really a warning?” Rupert wondered aloud, his pace slowing slightly. “When a mystical being tells you to do things a certain way, it’s been my experience to tread carefully.”   
  
“One step forward, two ever bloody backward,” Ethan muttered, glad that the pace wasn’t quite so break-neck anymore. “So the fact that you took a complete backseat while Ripper came out to play isn’t evidence enough to support that the girl wasn’t pulling your leg.”   
  
“All the more reason for me not to believe it,” Rupert said in flat refusal. “I can’t embrace Ripper, he’ll take over.”   
  
“But Ripper’s where your power comes from, mate,” Ethan pointed out, drawing even with Rupert finally. “Isn’t that why you stopped practicing?”   
  
“I stopped because if I didn’t, it would have killed me.”  
  
Ethan was about to say more, but his attention was captured by the faint, yellow-orange glow up ahead that was too far away to be caused by the flashlight. They seemed to be getting somewhere at last. Whether the light was their intended goal or not, Ethan didn’t care at the moment. Just as long as it was an end to the blind wandering in the bloody tunnels. With his luck, it would turn out to be more tunnels. But the light promised a change of some sort. At the moment, he could live with a break from the monotony.   
  
“Finally,” Rupert said, sounding as relieved as Ethan felt.  
  
Not more than five minutes later, they were standing at the entrance to a sizeable alcove lit by what appeared to be several small bowls of flames. In the center was a small table, possibly an altar, and upon it was a curved blade of possibly six inches whose golden hilt seemed to absorb the light surrounding it.  
  
It wasn’t until they set foot into the room itself that Ethan could feel the energy radiating from the blade. He should have felt it much sooner, strong as it was, but was most likely the threshold formed a protective barrier to conceal it. The closer they drew to it, the more unsettled he became until they were a foot or so away and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.  
  
“Rupert, wait!” he pulled his friend away from the altar.  
  
“What is it now?” Rupert asked impatiently.  
  
“Can’t you feel it?”  
  
“Feel what?”  
  
Ethan waved his right hand through the air, the energy washing around it like water, icy, winter-cold water, sharp and biting. Angry. “‘Feel what?’ Are you serious? I know I’m more attuned then you are, but even you should be able to sense it, Rupert.”  
  
“There’s something, I’ll grant you that. But I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about,” he dismissed.   
  
“You’re about to set foot in a room whose energy is lending itself very much toward the hostile, and you wonder what I’m getting worked up about?”  
  
“It’s not hostile,” Rupert contradicted him.  
  
“Not hostile?”  
  
Rupert was still for a moment, considering. “Actually, it’s rather soothing.”   
  
“And that doesn’t concern you in the least?” Ethan was completely flabbergasted. It wasn’t like Rupert not to be suspicious, regardless of the impression he was getting.   
  
“Maybe it just doesn’t like you,” Rupert stated. But he didn’t sound like Rupert, the tone was too flip, too smug, too Ripper.   
  
“Rupert, look at me,” Ethan said, forcing the man to face him.  
  
His pupils were dilated wide, too wide for the dim light to have caused.  
  
“Don’t look so worried, Ethan.” Ripper smiled. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”  
  
He shook Ethan off and reached for the dagger, lifting it from the table as if it were any other object. The moment he did, the energy silenced. Ethan nearly stumbled from the loss of it.  
  
“See, nothing to worry about. And you tell me I need to relax,” Rupert chuckled, studying the blade. And it was Rupert. It wasn’t in his voice or posture so much as just the feel Ethan got from him. The quick change was disconcerting to say the least.  
  
Ethan was beginning to wonder if Rupert’s initial hesitation on this venture wasn’t as unfounded as he had previously thought.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“Anything?” Ethan asked, heedlessly dropping an uncooperative text on the floor, causing Giles to wince. They had been back at the hotel for more than three hours, researching the dagger, and neither Giles’ notes nor his texts had provided any insight. “I thought you said there were some blades mentioned in connection with the Order. I know I haven’t found a single mention of any object remotely sharp in all of this.”  
  
Neither had Giles. Nothing at all. He had been through at least three texts that he would have sworn made mention of some knife or another that was used in the Order of Baale’n-Dûor’s ceremonies. Maybe he had imagined it. Pointedly closing his own book with care, he took his glasses off and set them on top of it. He rubbed his eyes. Christ, but this was starting to give him a headache. Three hours of no leads would try anyone’s patience, but he usually had better tolerance.  
  
“You hungry?” he asked.  
  
Ethan looked at him like he had grown a third head.  
  
“I’m starving. We’re getting nowhere. Food can’t hurt matters any,” Giles explained.  
  
“I just never thought I’d see the day when you would stop researching before you’d gone through every last text.” Ethan smirked.  
  
“Stranger things have happened,” Giles said flatly, standing.  
  
“Yes, they have,” Ethan said, the words sounding more meaningful than casual agreement. But Giles wasn’t in the mood to waste much time trying to figure it out.  
  
They located a family run steakhouse about two blocks from the hotel. After they placed their orders, Giles realized Ethan was watching him again, as he had been all afternoon, intently as if Giles were a puzzle to be worked out.   
  
“What? You’ve been staring at me off and on all bloody day. What is it, Ethan?” his annoyance caused him to set his glass down harder than he had intended, the liquid sloshing over the rim.  
  
Unperturbed, Ethan casually took a sip of his wine. “Nothing.” But the way he said it, it didn’t sound like nothing.  
  
Giles sighed. “You could try and be more gracious, you know.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Ethan scoffed.  
  
“I’m not doing this for myself.”  
  
“Aren’t you?” Ethan’s voice had taken on the low, inquiring but knowing tone it got when he was trying to push Giles’ buttons in a less obvious manner.   
  
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I think you are getting something out of this, whether you realize it or not,” Ethan said simply.  
  
“Such as?” Giles asked, struggling for control.  
  
“Haven’t figured it out yet. But I promise to let you know when I do.” Ethan’s smile was sly.   
  
Giles was rapidly losing his appetite, not to mention his temper. He should have just grabbed something quick and gone back to the books. But even now, looking through page after page of obscure text for who knew what still made his head throb. “Can we talk about anything else?”  
  
“Certainly.” Ethan’s smile brightened. “Was last night as good for you as it was for me?”  
  
Giles felt his blood rise.  
  
“You did say anything,” Ethan said innocently.  
  
Why was he even surprised?  
  
“Part of you enjoyed it,” Ethan stated.  
  
“Do you honestly think I would have touched you under any other circumstances?” Giles asked, the cruel words cutting stridently across his tongue.  
  
“If you weren’t such an uptight prig most of the time, you probably would have the other morning. That must have been some dream you were having.” Ethan chuckled.  
  
Giles eyes narrowed. “Last night was a mistake.”  
  
“No it wasn’t, and you’re deluding yourself if you think that. Just because Ripper was driving didn’t mean you weren’t having fun,” Ethan nearly purred the words. “But it’s easier for you to separate things. God forbid you should want me, Rupert.”  
  
“Well, I don’t. I haven’t wanted you for a long time.”  
  
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Rupert.”  
  
“Drop it, Ethan,” Giles growled.  
  
“See, this is the you I’m used to,” Ethan said as if he had proven a point. “Uptight, full of denial and repression . . . this Rupert I know how to handle.”  
  
“You still haven’t gotten over what went on down in the catacombs, have you?”  
  
Ethan shrugged. “It wasn’t like you, Rupert. I thought it was something you should be aware of.”  
  
“I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“No, you don’t have any better idea of what’s going on here than I do.”   
  
Why was he sitting here taking this from Ethan? After all he was doing for the man . . . Fed up, Giles stood, took out his wallet, threw a handful of Euros on the table and stormed out of the restaurant. He had expected Ethan to drive him crazy, just not this soon in the venture.  
  
Giles walked quickly down the street in the opposite direction of the hotel. He needed some time to clear his mind, to calm down. Frustration and annoyance were at war with pure, undiluted rage. Ethan’s insinuations incensed Giles—knowing Ethan, the man was doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him. And yet, was it possible there was some truth in his words? Giles shook the thought off.   
  
“I thought you had better manners than that, Rupert,” Ethan called from behind, jogging to catch up.  
  
“Leave me alone, Ethan,” he tossed back over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for argument.  
  
The hand on his shoulder was the last straw. Not even conscious of what he was doing, Giles stopped, pivoted on his left heel, and slammed his fist into the side of Ethan’s face. The force of the blow reverberated up his arm, but bone didn’t give way.  
  
“Back off!” he snarled.  
  
Ethan just laughed at him, touching his left cheek tenderly. “You used to hit a lot harder than that, Rupert. I think you might be losing your touch.”  
  
“Ethan.” The name came out rough, feral, warning.  
  
“You’ve been wanting to do that since you found out that it was my shop you walked into that day,” Ethan said knowingly, stepping closer, cutting the small distance that separated them. “Feels great, doesn’t it?”  
  
It did feel good. Too good. And Giles wanted very much to hit him again and again and again, beating Ethan bloody, pummeling him until the smirk was wiped off his insolent face. His fists were already clenching, muscles tightening, readying to strike.  
  
“Do it,” Ethan goaded him. “Bottling up all that rage isn’t good. You have to let it out somehow. And you know if you don’t beat me, you’re going to wind up fucking me. Two nights in a row; that would be absolutely unbearable, wouldn’t it?”  
  
He grabbed Ethan’s collar and threw the man against the nearby brick wall, quickly scanning the street to make certain it was deserted. Ethan caught himself before he could slam against it face first, his palms slapping flat against the masonry. Giles was behind him an instant later, boxing him in, leaning tightly against the planes of his body.  
  
Giles brought his lips whisper close to Ethan’s ear. “Better be careful, Ethan. Keep pushing me and you might get something you never intended,” he rumbled as his right arm wrapped around Ethan, his hand dropping below Ethan’s waist to cup firmly over Ethan’s predictable erection. “Does violence ever not make you hard?”  
  
Ethan’s ass pressed back meaningfully against Giles’ cock. “What about you, Ripper?”  
  
Giles used the hand that still cupped Ethan’s erection to pull the man back more tightly against himself. He had never found an ass as welcoming as Ethan’s. “I’m not Ripper, Ethan.”   
  
“That’s the kind of thinking that’s going to get you into trouble, Rupert,” Ethan said, his tone light but the sentiment behind them wasn’t. “Think you can put all the bad stuff you don’t like about yourself in a carefully labeled package and shove it to the side? It’s always there. Waiting to rise up, take hold. Ripper isn’t just a part of you. He is you.”  
  
“Is that so?” Giles asked conversationally, his right hand leaving Ethan’s cock, gliding upward to unfasten Ethan belt.  
  
“Is that so?” Ethan mocked. “You’re dense, mate, but you aren’t daft. Certainly, it’s easier to—Christ!” he gasped as Giles’ hand slipped inside his pants, brushing along smooth, hard, fevered flesh. “That’s one way to shut me up.”  
  
“It doesn’t seem very effective,” Giles commented, stroking along Ethan’s length and enjoying the sense of power that came with the way Ethan’s cock so readily responded to his touch. He knew he could bring Ethan off in a matter of moments if he desired, but he did not. This was meant to be punishment, after all. He stroked Ethan until he felt the man’s body tense with impending release and then shifted his movements to stave off climax. But before Ethan could verbally protest, Giles commanded, “That is all you shall get and no more. Your hands are to remain where they are and you will not come.”  
  
He released Ethan’s cock and shoved his pants down to hug his knees before stepping back and attending to his own clothes. Ethan didn’t say a single word as Giles worked at the fly of his jeans, freeing himself from the constraints of cotton and denim. And never was there greater relief. Giles felt that he should be ashamed at how turned on dominating Ethan made him. He didn’t. In the darkness, there was no shame or need for Giles to hide his desires, seek refuge in Ripper. Giles had always enjoyed bending Ethan to his will, and he always would.  
  
“You going to stand back there admiring it all night, or are you going to fuck me?” Ethan said feigning boredom, though Giles knew Ethan was far from bored.   
  
“I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready,” Giles informed him before slapping the flat of his hand against one smooth cheek, the crack of contact splitting the silence.  
  
Ethan took a sharp intake of breath and released it, then snorted. “Have I been that bad of a boy, Rupert?” he inquired with a wheedling note.  
  
Giles slapped Ethan again, harder on the opposite side, blood immediately suffusing the surface of the skin.   
  
Ethan’s release of breath was more audible this time. “Imagine that. After all these years, you’ve managed to surprise me. Never took you for having a spanking kink.”  
  
“I don’t,” Giles said quietly as his fingertips ran across the reddened flesh. Hot to the touch but not as hot as inside. His index finger trailed down the dividing line of Ethan’s ass, seeking deeper until he encountered the puckered ring of muscle guarding the entrance. Tempting though it was to fuck Ethan dry, he would be of no use to Giles later. And it wasn’t really that pleasant for him, either. Too much friction wasn’t a good thing.  
  
Giles spat in his left hand and coated his shaft while he continued to play with Ethan’s opening with his right. It was crude, but effective.  
  
“Couldn’t have been better prepared, could you?” Ethan snickered, inching his legs wider.  
  
Just for that, he wasn’t going to be as courteous to Ethan as he had intended. His right hand moved to Ethan’s hip as he stepped into place, his cock slipping between Ethan’s ass cheeks and prodding insistently for entry.  
  
“And they say romance is dead,” Ethan grunted as Giles’ cock finally gained entry. Much hotter inside. Hot and tight.  
  
“You love every moment of this,” Giles said, slipping further and further inside until he was fully sheathed. Ethan’s ass was and always had been bliss.  
  
Ethan gasped as Giles pulled back and drove in again. When he spoke, it seemed to be a struggle for him to keep his words even and light. “I can think of a way or two I’d love it more.”  
  
“Should have thought of that before you made the usual ass of yourself,” Giles replied, beginning to lose himself in the fricative slide of his cock in and out of Ethan, slowly picking up speed. In and out, in and out. Ethan clenching and releasing, changing the pressure, enticing him on. Of the few men and all the women he had fucked, none were quite the same as Ethan. Maybe it was because none were quite so willing yet so determined to fight him every step of the way. Ethan gave it up without hesitation but made you earn it at the same time.  
  
In and out, in and out. Ethan’s ragged breath was keeping pace with his own, growing shorter and quicker as Giles pounded into him.  
  
“You do not come,” Giles told him again, barely managing to get the words out with any semblance of authority.  
  
“Know better, don’t I?” Ethan said breathlessly.  
  
And then Giles had no room for words, his higher functions lost to the act, balls drawing up, body tensing, teetering on the precipice before tumbling over, spending himself deep inside Ethan. And he was spent, sagging gratefully as Ethan held them both up while he recovered. Why was it he and Ethan hadn’t been more amicable over the years? Oh, right, because his old friend was a sadistic, self-serving prick. Yet post-coital bliss made it very tempting to forget.  
  
Recovered finally, Giles retreated, casually refastening his jeans. Ethan still had his hands braced against the wall, head fallen forward, shoulders slowing their rise and fall as his breathing returned to normal. His bare ass stood out palely in the dim light, Giles’ come winding a fine trail down one thigh. He was exposed, wanton, debauched, the perfect picture of the aftermath of a quick, hard fuck. Ethan had never failed Giles in that respect.  
  
Shaking himself from his musings, Giles spoke to Ethan finally. “Pull yourself together and get back to the hotel. I want you in my room and waiting for me when I get back.”  
  
He didn’t need to hang around to see if Ethan would obey or not. That was a foregone conclusion. His appetite had returned and he was ravenous. Giles felt that he had earned a quick meal alone and without interruption.  
  
“Wait for me,” he reiterated as he left Ethan still leaning against the brickwork.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Ethan didn’t pull up his pants until long after Rupert’s footsteps faded from the alley, not out of obedience but out of the fact he couldn’t trust himself to move. As happened the night before, for a few moments following Rupert’s release, Ethan had felt the magics flood through his system. But, of course, it was only temporary, receding completely, leaving him just as empty as before and sick with the loss. Literally.  
  
Fastening his pants, Ethan turned and leaned back against the wall, trying to quell the nausea threatening to overtake him. And it wasn’t just due to Rupert walking away. No, the magic had been different this time, stronger, freer. Odd, considering that it was Rupert fucking him this time. Or maybe not so odd. Rupert hadn’t taken refuge inside himself to give outlet to his baser desires. It had been Rupert all the way, with maybe just the barest hint of Ripper coloring his actions. Very interesting.  
  
Ethan pushed off the wall, finally feeling stable enough to trust his own two feet to get him back to the hotel. And no, he wasn’t going because Rupert told him to go back and wait for him, though Ethan was looking forward to what Rupert would do next. The most likely outcome would be Rupert returning, stomach full and disgusted with himself, thus throwing himself back into research. And research was why Ethan was going back. He wanted to get a closer look at the dagger without Rupert getting all twitchy and possessive over it. Like Ethan could do a bloody thing with it except cut himself.  
  
Loathe though he was to admit it, Ethan wasn’t too keen on what this venture was doing to Rupert, fucking aside. It was unsettling. And Ethan didn’t care much for the feeling. Especially since it gave him second thoughts—this wasn’t something he wanted to have second thoughts over.   
  
He went to his own room first to drop off his coat and to use the adjoining door to get into Rupert’s room. The room was just as they had left it. Books scattered everywhere and the dagger sitting by itself on a stack of books in the middle of the table. Part of Ethan had been afraid that Rupert had taken the dagger with him. Good to know he wasn’t that possessive. Yet.  
  
Ethan picked up the dagger with some trepidation and was both relieved and disappointed when it felt like nothing more than a lifeless piece of metal. He knew with certainty that it was far from lifeless, but at present it wasn’t awake which was fine by him. He really didn’t need to be bombarded by more magic at the moment.  
  
It was a simple piece of craftsmanship, an elegant blend of gold and steel but very plain. There were no etchings or carvings visible. Rather strange for a ceremonial dagger. One could surmise that it was deceptively plain. Hm.  
  
Holding the dagger by the hilt in his right hand, Ethan hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do. At the moment, curiosity won out over common sense. He ran the blade along his left palm, a faint red trail welling up behind it. It wasn’t smart to bring blood into play without knowing what its effect would be, but he was willing to risk it. Instinct told him that if there were any markings to be found that this would be the way to find them. And if the world ended because of his actions, well, it wouldn’t matter because there would be no one left to care, would there?  
  
Ethan ran his blood along the flat of the blade and the hilt. The result was blood smeared metal. At first. And then the dagger began to glow with a faint reddish light, turning to orange then yellow and white before winking out. The blood was gone, revealing a blade wasn’t so plain after all.  
  
An intricate line of symbols ran along the length of the blade, mere design at first glance. But to the trained eye, the symbols weren’t mere decoration, they meant something. While languages had never been Ethan’s strongest suit, he would say with almost dead certainty that these were Yrenisan in origin, a mixture of Etruscan and Phoenician dialects favored by the Order of Baale’n-Dûor with their own creative spin on the characters. It was writing that the Order used when they weren’t too worried about keeping something secret.  
  
He went over to the table, picking up and discarding book after book until he found Amaris St. John’s Overview of the Linguistics of Mediterranean Cults Prior to the Nineteenth Century. Over six hundred musty pages of little more than academic speculation, completely useless to him except for the five page chapter briefly touching upon the Order. Sitting down, Ethan grabbed the nearby legal pad and roughly sketched out the markings. There was no telling how long they would remain visible. Then, after flipping to the appropriate pages, he set about doing one of his least favorite tasks, translation.   
  
So caught up was he in the work that Ethan wasn’t even aware of Rupert’s return until the man spoke. “Did I say you could do that?”  
  
He looked up, took in Rupert’s rather casual, non-threatening stance and shrugged the question off, turning back to his task.  
  
“Ethan.” The tone carried with it a bit more warning.  
  
“You know me, can’t sit still for more than five minutes put together. I thought I’d get something useful done while you were off doing whatever,” Ethan replied distractedly, trying to figure out if the word he was working on was supposed to be “dawn” or “renewal.”  
  
Rupert’s hand appeared in his line of sight, snatching up the dagger. The next thing Ethan knew, he was being hauled up by the front of his shirt, the chair banging against the floor. Flashing the dagger too close for comfort, Rupert spat, “What in the hell did you do?”  
  
If he didn’t know Rupert as well as he did, Ethan would at least feel a little fear being the subject of Rupert’s ire. Maybe it was a conditioned response, but Rupert angry always turned Ethan on. Even when it really shouldn’t.  
  
Keeping his tone light, Ethan said, “The blade seemed too plain. I found a way to reveal its secrets. Now I’m trying to figure out what it means.”  
  
“How? You can’t do magic.” Rupert’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.  
  
“Didn’t need to. The blade did it for me,” Ethan replied.  
  
“What did you do?” Rupert shook him.  
  
“Easy, Rupert, easy,” Ethan said, attempting to pry Rupert’s hand from his shirt. He’d already lost one to Ripper’s exuberance, he wasn’t too eager to lose another. Rupert finally released him and Ethan stumbled a step back to catch his balance.   
  
Rupert crossed his arms, the barest flicker of Ripper in his eyes. “Well?”  
  
“Whether you believe it or not, I have actually been doing research on the Order and know a thing or two about their practices. And as I’m certain you are very well aware, the Order favored blood heavily in many of their practices and rites,” Ethan said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself for being able to show Rupert up at least once. “So I went with a hunch and it paid off,”   
  
“You brought blood in contact with the blade? Makes sense.”  
  
Ethan couldn’t believe it when Rupert picked up the legal pad to glance over his work. There was no anger anymore, just calm.  
  
Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he said, “What, no lecture on bringing blood into play when the consequences aren’t known?”  
  
Rupert shrugged, muttering to himself as he read over what Ethan had translated so far. Then he said distractedly, “You aren’t a novice, Ethan, I don’t need to lecture you. Not that you’d listen, anyway.”  
  
The man had a point.  
  
“Considering how weak your linguistic skills are, this isn’t bad.” He even managed to sound half impressed. “Now then,” he held the tablet out for Ethan to take, “if you’ll be so kind, I’m a bit knackered and would like to call it a night.”  
  
Ethan watched the closed bathroom door for long minutes after Rupert disappeared behind it. What in the hell was going on? Rupert’s quick mood swings were beyond disconcerting. The man had gone from nearly tearing Ethan’s head off to tranquil in the blink of an eye, and barely a mention of the alley earlier. It wasn’t like Rupert. Hell, it wasn’t even Ripper.  
  
Picking up the tablet and half a dozen books, Ethan went back to his room, reminding himself that he was only in this venture for himself, and it didn’t matter what happened to Rupert. He couldn’t care less.   
  
Maybe if he repeated that enough, come morning he’d actually believe it.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Giles gripped the edge of the sink in the darkness, waiting until he heard Ethan return to his own room. Only then did he turn on the bathroom light.  
  
In the mirror, he looked the same as he always did. Maybe a little tired, but that was normal. But something was different. It wasn’t just due to Ripper’s day out. Ethan was right, he wasn’t acting like himself. He wasn’t acting like Ripper, either. There was a subtle feeling of gradually losing control of himself. His anger was usually under better control, even around Ethan. And earlier, when they had been researching, he had been bored by the tedium of it all, increasingly impatient that they seemed to be getting nowhere fast.  
  
“What’s happening to you?” Giles asked his reflection.  
  
“You still insist on fighting yourself. What else did you expect?”   
  
He hadn’t expected a reply. Emerétzi’s muse stepped from behind him to smile at him in the mirror.  
  
Giles blinked. She was still there, clad, as before, only in the crimson material slung low on her hips. A graceful hand came to rest on his shoulder, the weight very real and warm.  
  
“Yes, Rupert, I’m really here,” she reassured him.   
  
She was the last thing he needed tonight.  
  
“Go away,” he said, closing his eyes and griping the sink harder, trying to will her away.  
  
He felt her tug at his shoulder to make him face her. “You might as well look at me, Rupert. I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say.” Her voice was soothing, enticing.  
  
“Who are you?” Giles asked, still resisting.  
  
“I’m the girl in the painting,” she said lightly.  
  
“Do you have a name?”  
  
“Yes, Rupert, I have a name,” she replied as if humoring a difficult child. “I’ll even tell it to you. If you will just turn around and look at me.”  
  
He was being silly. But he didn’t trust her. And he didn’t entirely trust himself anymore. Still, there was nothing else to be done for it. Finally, he opened his eyes again and faced her. It was disconcerting seeing her in such a modern and mundane setting, illuminated by electric lighting. She was a creature of moonlight and the outdoors, of the past.  
  
She held out her hand. “Antonia.”  
  
Giles took it automatically, her hand smaller but wrapping comfortably around his own. Again, here was undeniable proof that she was no figment, the delicate but strong hand resting solidly in his own.  
  
Withdrawing her hand, Antonia grinned. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the sink. “Now are you going to tell me why you’re here?”  
  
She sighed. “A beautiful woman visits you in your bathroom, and you’re all business.”  
  
“Antonia,” he growled.  
  
“Mm, you do have a temper on you, don’t you, Rupert? I like that in a man,” she purred, taking a step toward him. “The type of temper that has to find an outlet, be it through your fists or through your cock.”  
  
His irritation was quickly being replaced with pure, unabated lust. The woman had a way with words that appealed to the baser side of his nature. “What are you doing to me?”   
  
Antonia shook her head, the fiery curls bobbing. “I am not doing anything to you, Rupert. For you, possibly. But mostly, it’s all you. I’m just here to give you a bit of insight, make things easier. And though I’m finding it next to impossible, convince you to stop fighting yourself. You are your own worst enemy.”  
  
Giles heard what she was saying, but he wasn’t comprehending much at the moment. All he could think of was how much he wanted to tear the wrap from around her waist, see if her legs were as long and pale and smooth as he imagined they were. He wondered if her hair was as red below as it was above. Was she hot, tight, wet, wanting him as much as he wanted her? He could almost feel her quim around his cock, liquid and needy, legs hugging his waist, almost hear the gentle half-grunt, half-sighs she would make as he pounded into her, driving her up the tiled wall as he fucked her hard, unrelenting and without mercy.  
  
He saw her lip curl in amusement as if reading his thoughts.   
  
“You can, you know,” she said, validating his assumption. “I want you to.”  
  
Giles was in motion before he could think, before he could hesitate. He met her in the middle and drove her back against the wall. Antonia watched him, eyes wide, expectant, simmering.  
  
“Take it off,” he ordered, nodding to the garment that half-clad her.  
  
And she did, loosening it with one hand before shimmying it off onto the floor. She was everything he imagined and more.  
  
“It’s no wonder Emerétzi chose you for his muse,” he said with a touch of awe as his eyes slowly made the journey from her shapely feet to her head.   
  
One eyebrow arched enticingly when he finally settled his gaze on her face. “What makes you think he chose me? I have always been my own woman, Rupert. No one chooses me. I choose them.” Her palm came to rest on the center of his chest, then slid lingeringly downward   
  
Christ, he needed to fuck her now before he lost himself.  
  
The hand that just about reached where Giles wanted it lifted up to caress his face. “There’s no rush, Rupert. Savor this.” She waited a beat while he forced himself to calm down. “Now then, strip for me. I want to see you, Rupert. You think I am beautiful? You have never truly seen yourself.”  
  
He should stop this now, walk out of the bathroom and away from her before things got out of hand. Instead, he pulled off his jumper and undershirt, tossing them to land heedlessly on the floor. Next belt, button, fly and he was skimming his jeans and boxers down and kicking them aside, followed lastly by his socks. Then he stood, unashamed, waiting as her eyes roved over him, appraising.  
  
“You really have no idea,” she complimented. Holding out a hand to him l, she said, “Come.”   
  
Giles took the proffered hand and let Antonia draw him against her, his erection coming to rest against the soft cushion of her stomach, the rise and fall of her diaphragm lightly teasing the head of his cock.  
  
“Why choose me?” he wondered as his fingers traced along her clavicle, pausing to explore the notch in the center before moving to the other side to graze down her arm and capture her other hand. Then he raised both of her arms out and over her head, stretching her out against the wall.  
  
Her smile was enigmatic as she looked up at him, blue eyes luminous. “Why not you? You’re strong, brave, incredibly selfless and have more power inside of you than you ever imagined.” Her voice dropped. “I have been waiting ever so long for you, Rupert. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t find me at all.”  
  
“I wasn’t looking for you,” he admitted, ashamed, looking down, looking away.  
  
“Of course you were, you just didn’t realize it. Hey,” she said encouragingly, “there is no need to feel guilty.”   
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Shh, there’s no need. The now is what matters,” Antonia soothed. “Will you kiss me, Rupert?”  
  
Giles felt as if he had been given a great gift as he dipped his head down with a whispered, “Yes.”  
  
He couldn’t get over how soft and alive she was. Antonia was a vision meant for oil and canvass; she couldn’t be flesh and blood. Yet she was. Very eager flesh and blood, her mouth pliant and responsive as he explored it. Her body writhed seductively beneath his as the kiss grew more heated, making his heart pound, blood rapidly departing for all points south. She moaned softly as he broke away to nuzzle against her neck, reveling in the subtle scents of outdoors and spring and the faintest hint of pure power.  
  
“I need you, Rupert.” She sounded so bereft. “Need to feel you inside me. Please, Rupert.”  
  
Christ, how could he deny her?  
  
“Don’t move your hands,” he ordered, pressing her wrists against the tile for emphasis before releasing them, his palms coasting down her arms, along her sides and coming to rest on her hips. He lifted her with ease, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist to assist him. His cock rested at her entrance, moist heat beckoning him inside. “Ready?”  
  
Antonia nodded, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes.  
  
Giles thrust inside in one smooth stroke, knowing with first contact that this was better than any heaven could be. Molten fire. He felt as if he were being consumed alive. He could die in that moment perfectly content, wrapped in liquid satin, held in exquisite comfort.   
  
“You’re amazing,” he breathed at last.  
  
“I know,” she replied without artifice.  
  
Oh, god.  
  
“Fuck me, Rupert,” she commanded.  
  
And he did, bracing one hand against the wall while the other clutched her hip as he withdrew and plunged back in. Her quim was so hot and wet that his cock had no trouble slipping in and out over and over. He recaptured her mouth after his rhythm was established, finding again the same welcome there as below. It was too good, too perfect. How could he ever hope to be happy with anything else after this? She arched into his thrusts, changing the angle and tightening her hold on him. Never would be too soon for this to end.  
  
Just as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he came, shooting hard and deep into her waiting womb. He wanted to cry at the loss. Clinging tightly to her as he spent himself, Giles was too aggrieved and overcome to know whether she came or not.   
  
Antonia’s arms came down around his shoulders, holding him close, comforting him as he recovered. “You have no idea,” she crooned over and over again.  
  
He slipped out of her with regret and set her carefully on her feet.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered, caressing his face. “You don’t know how much that means to me.’  
  
Before he could say anything, she ducked around him and bent down to retrieve her crimson wrap. In an instant, it was back in place as if it had never been removed.  
  
“Good things happen when you stop fighting yourself. Remember that, Rupert.”  
  
Then she was gone, leaving him naked in the middle of the bathroom wondering if it had happened at all.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Ethan had been his room all of twenty minutes before he realized two of the books he really needed were still over in Rupert’s room. He hesitated at the adjoining door, wondering if it was worth it to disturb Rupert tonight. Another mood swing wasn’t something Ethan wanted to deal with tonight. If Rupert would pick a mood and stick with it for five minutes there wouldn’t be a problem. It was part of the reason Ethan was so determined to find out more on the dagger as soon as possible, hoping for some insight into what was going on.   
  
With some relief, he noted that Rupert was still in the bathroom. Good, he could slip in and out without the man noticing. It took Ethan a moment to register the sounds coming from the bathroom—Rupert’s animalistic grunts as he approached climax mixed with the sounds of flesh slapping against tile. Seemed Rupert wasn’t as knackered as he claimed to be. Ethan forgot about the books entirely as he drew nearer to the bathroom door just in time to hear Rupert come. The man had no idea how vocal he was during sex when he let himself go, even if it was with himself. Ethan smiled to himself as he leaned against the wall. Yes, this certainly was worth coming over for.  
  
The smile was gone a moment later when he heard a woman say, “Good things happen when you stop fighting yourself. Remember that, Rupert.”  
  
So that’s why Rupert had been eager for him to be gone. Picked up some bird along with his food. Ethan didn’t like how betrayed he felt by that. What did he care?   
  
The respectable thing would be to slip out before Rupert and his girl emerged. Ethan had never been big on respectable. So he waited. And waited. He heard water run in the tub and the shower switch on. Were they going to take all bloody night? Fine. He’d just harass Rupert about it in the morning; he had better things to be doing right now.  
  
Ethan turned away from the bathroom to go pick up the books and head out, but froze in his tracks. Emerétzi’s girl was standing by the table, arms crossed under her bare, full breasts, watching him with a neutral expression on her face.  
  
“Eavesdropping, Ethan? Really, isn’t that a bit low, even for you?” she said, the mild tone doing nothing to dull her sharp words.  
  
“Well, aren’t you a surprise,” he replied flatly. This certainly added a new twist to things.  
  
Her smile was cold, calculating and her eyes bereft of all tenderness. “You really should stop worrying, Ethan. Concern doesn’t suit you.”  
  
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” In the minute they’d been together, Ethan already disliked her.  
  
“You’re a selfish bastard deep down, so what’s the point in pretending otherwise?”  
  
“No deep down about it, my dear, I’m selfish through and through,” he countered, standing taller. “My only concern is that my little venture may be jeopardized by Rupert’s unpredictable behavior.”   
  
“Unpredictable is Ripper’s nature, isn’t it?” she asked, though it really wasn’t a question.  
  
“Ripper could change at the drop of a hat, I’ll grant you that. But it was far from unpredictable.” He took in her perfect, smooth skin, brilliant red hair and aesthetically pleasing features, not to mention breasts that any man would kill to get his hands on. “Why are you trying to seduce him?”  
  
“And not a more willing, dried up sorcerer like yourself?” she laughed. “He has everything to offer me, Ethan.”  
  
And I have nothing, Ethan added mentally. Which was the whole reason they were in this mess to begin with.  
  
“What, no witty come back?” she pressed, amusement coloring her voice. “Come on, Ethan, we both know you aren’t the silent, stoic type.  
  
“Does this have any point, girl, or are you just here to try my patience?” he spat.  
  
“How can I try what you don’t have?” she retorted lightly.  
  
Bitch.  
  
“Don’t be mad, Ethan,” she said, uncrossing her arms and taking a few graceful steps toward him until maybe a foot separated him. “I’m going to give you everything you’ve been wanting and more.”  
  
“Are you now. Because you seem like such the generous type.”  
  
“I’m generous insofar as it gets me what I want,” she said. Cocking her head to the side, she studied him. “That’s something we have in common.”  
  
“Isn’t that nice.”  
  
She took another step, now close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. The proximity made more than his temperature rise.   
  
“What are you?” he asked her, ignoring the growing desire to tear the garment from her waist, push her down on the bed and fuck her until she no longer wore that smug, haughty look.   
  
“A woman who inspires men of her choosing to greatness,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing.   
  
“Don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.”  
  
“Entirely deserving, I can assure you.”  
  
“And that makes it all better,” he said flatly.   
  
Something flickered in her eyes and then was gone. She smiled at him again, amiable this time, the cruelty absent. “It doesn’t have to be like this between us, Ethan. There’s no reason to let your petty jealousies get in the way.”  
  
“In the way of what exactly?”  
  
She shrugged. When she spoke, her tone was considering. “Who knows? You used to be something amazing once, Ethan. You can’t have lost everything in the desert. There has to be something you can still offer me.”  
  
“So Ripper has everything and I have something.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Wow, you really know how to win a bloke over,” he said sarcastically.  
  
“Just didn’t want you to feel left out,” she said acting every bit the coquette. When he didn’t respond, the mask dropped away and she said easily, “Can’t say I didn’t try.”  
  
Then she was gone, leaving him hard, pissed that she had gotten under his skin so easily and even more uncertain about things.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Rupert’s baritone almost gave him a heart attack.  
  
Ethan turned to face his old friend, moisture from the shower making Rupert’s skin glisten in the steamy light filtering from the bathroom. He wore one of the hotel towels slung low around his waist and carried another which he used to tousle off extra water from his hair while waiting for Ethan to respond. Ethan decided then that he had enough conversation for one evening—Emerétzi’s bint had been the last straw, leaving him angry and aroused.   
  
Grabbing the towel now hanging around Rupert’s neck, Ethan pulled Rupert to him, crushing the other man’s mouth with his own. Surprise opened Rupert’s mouth, gave Ethan easy entrance to delve in and pour out every bit of frustration and anger he was feeling.  
  
Pulling back, Rupert managed to get out an, “Ethan, what—” before Ethan spun and shoved him back onto the bed.  
  
“I am sick and tired of playing this by your fucking rules, Ripper,” he spat, dropping to his knees between Rupert’s spread legs. Whipping the towel back, he revealed Rupert’s cock just beginning to grow hard.  
  
“Ethan—”  
  
“Shut up,” he growled before taking Rupert into his mouth. Ethan didn’t spare time for any of his usual finesse, going instead for speed and savagery. Neither of which Rupert seemed to have a problem with. Ethan ran his teeth along Rupert’s shaft as he pulled back, the man’s hips arching up and following after as he cried out hoarsely. Ethan didn’t give a damn if it was more pain than pleasure in the cry, all that mattered was that Ripper was hard. He kept at it until he felt Rupert’s balls draw up, readying for release. Only then did he pull back, leaving Rupert aching on the edge.  
  
When Ethan stood up, Rupert said indignantly, “What the fuck?”  
  
“It’s not about you this time,” Ethan replied, his voice low, feral as he tore his shirt open and tossed it aside. He made quick work of his pants and socks, then said, “Roll over.”  
  
Moving up the bed and half sitting up, Rupert looked at him as if he had gone mad. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“I do. Now, roll the fuck over.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Fine.”   
  
Ethan pounced, pinning Rupert to the bed.  
  
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Rupert asked as he struggled to throw Ethan off, but Ethan had the upper hand.  
  
“You, one too many times,” he replied, forcing Rupert’s legs wider with his own. Getting to his knees but still keeping his left hand on Rupert’s chest, holding him down, Ethan spat into his right and ran it along his own hard cock, hissing with the pleasure of any contact.  
  
“Oh, no, you’re not!” Rupert protested just as Ethan lifted his legs and pressed him down onto the bed once more, opening him up as Ethan’s cock prodded for entry.  
  
“Oh, yes, I am,” Ethan said, finding and pressing against the tight ring of muscle. There was a moment of resistance, and then Rupert relaxed, letting him slip in.  
  
“Fuck,” they said simultaneously as Ethan was fully sheathed.  
  
Very few times in the course of their history together had Rupert deigned to bottom to Ethan, which, most of the time, was fine by Ethan. He had been happy as long as sex was involved in some fashion. But he did enjoy those odd occasions when Ripper had been amiable or intoxicated or high enough to allow it. However, Ethan never initiated it without first getting permission of some fashion from Rupert, a sign of his respect and idolatry of the other man in the beginning became habit after. Even in Sunnydale, when Rupert was irrevocably on his way to becoming a Fyarl, Ethan had still asked first. He was done asking. He was too dependent upon Rupert in this venture; he needed to have some modicum of control back.  
  
At last he was able to move, withdrawing from Rupert’s ass by slow degrees until he was almost completely out, then thrusting back in, hard, steady, and fast, Rupert so tight around him. God, it felt better than he remembered. Out and in. Ethan lost himself in the rhythm, not thinking, giving himself over to sensation and the sound of Rupert’s now ecstatic grunts as he arched into Ethan’s thrusts.  
  
“Christ. Fuck. There. Harder.” Rupert’s almost pleading one word sentences were the best things Ethan had ever heard come out of the man’s mouth.  
  
In this, at least, Ethan still had power. Rupert hot, begging, muscles clenching around him, drawing him on.  
  
As exquisite and rare as fucking Rupert was, Ethan wasn’t about to hold back or draw this out longer than he needed. He had been denied release once that night by Rupert, worked up again by the girl from the painting—he was not about to deny himself on top of it.  
  
He came, slamming into Rupert’s hot, welcoming ass one final time, collapsing atop the man as he spent himself, reveling in the smell of freshly showered Rupert.  
  
Yeah, he had needed that.


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

Giles awoke pleasantly sore in a tangle of white bed sheets, very much alone. He sat up and peered around the room in sleepy confusion. Neither the goddess he had fucked or the man who had fucked him were anywhere to be seen. He hadn’t expected to wake up alone. And he most definitely hadn’t wanted to. It was disappointing.  
  
He wasn’t in the mood to be disappointed at the moment. Things were starting to make sense now. Antonia’s visit had helped in that respect. he no longer had any reservations about moving forward. He had gotten gun-shy about even minimally tapping into his powers after what happened to Randall. In looking back now, Giles realized he had been punishing himself for something that really hadn’t been his fault. Randall hadn’t been responsible enough, but as the de facto leader of their group, Giles had shouldered the guilt for what happened unnecessarily. His magic hadn’t killed Randall, Randall’s inability to follow procedure had. Antonia’s encouragement helped free him from his pointless remorse. She thought him capable of great things, the least he could do is try to live up to her opinion.  
  
And then there was Ethan.  
  
Not once in their years together in London, or scattered encounters since, had Giles ever seen that side of Ethan he had shown last night. He’d seen Ethan brassed off more times than he could count, but never like this. Ethan worked through manipulation, dominated through submission. He did not go for the direct, do-what-I-say-or-else approach. Most likely because Ripper would have beaten him soundly into next month for attempting such a thing.  
  
And while he would never admit it out loud, Giles had enjoyed that side of Ethan very much. Too much. First it had been out of sheer surprise that Giles had gone along with things, and then, well . . . it had been a relief to give himself over completely to someone else’s whims. Give in and give up control of events for just a moment. And it had been too bloody long since he had been fucked. He had forgotten how much he truly enjoyed it.  
  
Giles felt his cock stir. Thinking about last night while alone in bed was not the most ideal of situations. He had no desire to take care of his burgeoning erection himself, not with Ethan next door and generally very accommodating. Besides, Ethan owed him.  
  
Getting out of the bed without a thought to his nudity, Giles headed for the adjoining door, but something on the table caught his eye. Or lack of something. The dagger was missing, as well as a number of volumes. The fool had brought blood into contact with the blade without knowing the consequences—careless as Ethan was by nature, even he knew better. There was no telling what he would try next. It was fortunate the Initiative had neutered him, otherwise . . .  
  
“Or maybe he’s been playing me the entire time,” Giles growled as he burst through the adjoining door into Ethan’s room.  
  
And found Ethan sound asleep in bed. The dagger lay benignly atop a yellow legal pad on Ethan’s room table.   
  
Suddenly, Giles felt very much the fool. What in the hell was wrong with him? Ethan may be playing him, but he wasn’t lying about the magic. Giles knew that with absolute certainty, had felt the truth. Ethan couldn’t do a damned thing with the dagger except bleed on it. Yet Giles didn’t like the dagger in anyone’s hands but his own. Especially not Ethan’s.   
  
Giles considered the man in question, seemingly innocent in his repose. He was as beautiful as he had been in youth, maybe more so with the added years, deep lines highlighting fine features. Beautiful and still able to surprise Giles after all this time.  
  
“You know, Ripper, if you’re going to complain about people watching you sleep, the least you could do is extend others the same courtesy,” Ethan’s sleep-thick voice pulled Giles from his reverie.  
  
Giles took in Ethan stretching catlike in the bed, the sheet thrown back just enough to reveal a toned physique that would make men half their age envious.  
  
Ethan smiled knowingly as he sat up, eyes raking over Giles from toe to head, “What on earth can be so important that you would rush over here without dressing first?” was Ethan’s smooth inquiry.  
  
Giles knew that he should be embarrassed, but he felt far from it. What was the point? “Why did you leave last night?” he countered, realizing too late how pathetic it sounded.  
  
“You mean other than the fact that you were snoring loud enough to wake the dead three countries away?” Ethan said lightly. Then he sobered. “Didn’t think you’d be all too keen on seeing me this morning.” His eyes dropped to Giles’ idling erection, and his serious mood dissipated. “But it appears that I was mistaken.”  
  
Ripper rose to the bait. Two steps brought him within arms reach of Ethan, allowing him to grab the hair at the back of Ethan’s head and yank it back sharply. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm. “What did I tell you that weekend we spent in Bath back in seventy-six?”  
  
“The weekend with the cramped little cot that barely fit one person?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“My memory’s not quite what it used to be,” Ethan said innocently, “perhaps you could remind me?”  
  
“The last time I reminded you,” Giles warned, pulling harder on Ethan’s hair, forcing him reach a hand behind to keep from falling backward, “the bruises didn’t heal for nearly two months.”  
  
Of course the man would grin at that. “I suppose you do owe me a few bruises for last night.”  
  
. Giles forced himself not to scream at his lover. Some things would never change. Attempting to keep his tone even, he spoke slowly, “Ethan, what did I tell you?”  
  
“If you fall asleep with me in bed, I sure as hell better be there when you wake up,” Ethan recited in a bored voice. His eyes hardened. “What I never got is why the same didn’t apply to you.”  
  
“Because you’ve never been able to beat me, at anything, Ethan,” Giles replied with cruel mirth.  
  
Ethan’s right hand raised up to wrap around Giles’ wrist behind his head, short nails digging in against the pressure point, unrelenting, viselike. Giles was hard pressed to hang on. Fuck, it hurt. But that didn’t mean he was going to let go.  
  
“You ever think that might be more due to the fact that I’ve let you beat me than out of any real prowess on your part?” Ethan said, the words cutting.  
  
So that’s how they were going to play this. Cruelty for cruelty? Fine. “That may have been true once when you had your magic, but without it you’re no match for me physically, so that’s hardly true now.”   
  
“No?”  
  
The pain intensified as Ethan twisted and Giles was pulled onto the bed. They rolled until Giles found himself inescapably pinned beneath Ethan on the bed. Struggle though he might, he couldn’t manage to throw Ethan off. The man had physics on his side.  
  
“Just because you always win in our dealings together, Rupert, doesn’t mean that you will always win,” Ethan said, grinding his hips down and making Giles realize how hard they both were at the moment. “Well, now, isn’t this familiar.”  
  
“Ethan, get off of me,” Giles growled in warning.  
  
“Don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night,” Ethan said with a leer.  
  
Neither would Giles, but he wasn’t about to admit it.  
  
“You owe me something for all my hard work, Rupert.”  
  
“What hard work?” Giles scoffed.  
  
“What hard work, he says.” Ethan rolled his eye. “I’ll have you know that while you were sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly well-fucked, I was busy translating the etchings on your bloody precious dagger. And while it isn’t my forte, I think I did a damn good job.” He inclined his head toward the table. “Everything you need to know is on that yellow tablet over there.”  
  
Giles eyes were immediately drawn to the table, then he looked back up at Ethan. “Well, do I get to see them?”  
  
Ethan’s grin was pure sin. “Only if you can assure me that my hard work won’t go unrewarded.”  
  
“I’m not assuring you of anything until I see what you’ve done,” Giles stated evenly.  
  
“Ye of little faith,” Ethan tsked, finally drawing away so Giles was free to move. “Not that I should be surprised in your lack of trust. But if you must, go, see for yourself.”  
  
he did just that. He now noticed several crumpled sheets scattered around the table and peppering the floor. The tablet itself had a number of sheets turned back to reveal a page bare save for a few lines at the top in Ethan’s neat hand, partially covered by the blade of the dagger. He set it carefully aside before looking at what Ethan had written. The D’avrynak Tun-dyn shall reveal the gift of Baale’n in the city of ash. Christ, was it really that easy?  
  
Hot, hard, male planes pressed against his back as Ethan peered casually over his shoulder. “I still have no clue on the D’avrynak Tun-dyn and what it entails, but ritual, result and location are all spelled out. Finding the right dialect was a bitch, but once I nailed that, the rest practically fell into my lap.”  
  
“You’re absolutely certain about it being D’avrynak Tun-dyn?” Giles asked, trying to ignore his body’s response to Ethan’s proximity, his cock a heavy, insistent presence resting against Giles’ ass.  
  
“Would stake my life on it.” Ethan’s voice was low as it rumbled in Giles ear, right arm wrapping around so his hand could tease lightly over Giles’ prick.   
  
“It’s fortunate that I happen to know a thing or two abut the D’avrynak Tun-dyn, then,” Giles said easily.  
  
Once upon a time he might have objected to performing the D’avrynak Tun-dyn, but now he could see it as a means to an end, no more, no less. And they’d come this far, it would be pointless to turn back now over something so minor.  
  
“I’m impressed, Ethan,” he admitted as he set the tablet down.  
  
“You’re serious?” Ethan questioned, his hand stilling for the barest of seconds in his surprise.  
  
Giles turned to face his lover, studying the man. It felt very right being back here again. They had been quite a force together once upon a time. Maybe after this was all over . . . But that would remain to be seen. It all depended upon how Ethan handled the final leg of their venture here. Self-serving as the man was, Giles doubted there would be a problem. Still, no need to worry about that just yet. Ethan had asked for a reward, and Giles was in the mood to be accommodating at the moment.  
  
“I believe I might be able to think of a way or two to thank you for all your hard work,” Giles said as he stepped back and dropped to his knees. Ethan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Just don’t get used to it.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

It was a rare day when Ripper deigned to give head. Usually it was because he was trying to win Ethan over to his way of thinking and all other methods of persuasion had failed.  
  
Now with Rupert on his knees before Ethan, eyes looking up with a glint of Ripper, Ethan had to wonder what the other man knew that he didn’t.  
  
“What’s going on, Rupert?”  
  
“You wanted me to repay you for all your hard work. That’s what I’m doing,” he replied, his voice a touch too reassuring.  
  
“Ripper,” Ethan said, crossing his arms as he glowered down in annoyance.  
  
“What’s the matter Ethan?” Rupert asked as his hand curled lightly around Ethan’s cock. “Do you think my skills have lapsed that much?”  
  
Ethan seriously doubted that. Hell, it was Ripper who had taught Ethan how to give a better than decent blow job. Well, not taught so much as groomed Ethan to know exactly what he liked done. Ethan still knew how much pressure to apply where, when to use teeth or tongue. But when, rarely, things were reversed, Ethan never had to tell Ripper a thing. The man just knew.  
  
“You look perplexed, something on your mind, Ethan?” Rupert inquired, his tone matching the casual ease that he stroked Ethan’s cock with, calluses adding friction that would otherwise be lacking in the faint touch.  
  
“Well, I expected to be well on my way to internal bleeding by now,” Ethan admitted.  
  
“After last night?” Rupert shrugged it off, his easy motions never faltering. “I’ll admit you took me by surprise, but it really wasn’t an unwelcome change of pace.”  
  
Ethan blinked. This was not the same man he had known for the better part of three decades. Ripper, Rupert, it didn’t matter; the man would not admit something like that. Unless, as Ethan, suspected, Rupert knew something Ethan didn’t and wouldn’t like.  
  
However, before Ethan could comment, Rupert’s mouth took the place of his hand.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Ethan breathed as warm, wet heat wrapped familiarly around his cock. He felt Rupert’s lips tighten briefly, smiling at the response.  
  
Ethan wasn’t certain when the last time was that Rupert gave a blow, but however much time had elapsed hadn’t hurt one bit. The rough, smooth slide of tongue mapping a trail of intent known only to Rupert, down and up and over and around. The barest hint of teeth adding a slight edge of pain quickly soothed by skillful tongue. It had been too fucking long, and at the rate Rupert was working him, Ethan wasn’t going to last very long.  
  
Threading his fingers through Rupert’s hair, Ethan steadied himself before attempting to push Rupert away. It was good, very good, but it was a distraction. And enjoyable as it was, Ethan wasn’t in the mood to be distracted.  
  
Rupert, however, would not be moved. His right hand curled around Ethan’s left buttock, holding Ethan in place, the pressure and speed of his mouth increasing as he worked to bring Ethan off.  
  
It took considerable effort, but Ethan managed to get his voice to come out even and relatively stern. “Rupert, we need to talk. Stop.”  
  
At first it seemed like Rupert hadn’t heard him, or was going to continue in spite of Ethan’s request. However, he finally pulled away, sitting back on his haunches with a put-upon sigh. “And you say I’m the one with problems.”  
  
Ethan wanted to kick himself. Would it really have been so bad to let Rupert finish what he started? His body thought not. Unfortunately, things as of late, including Rupert’s behavior, had been too strange not to stop and take notice. Especially, after the visit from Emerétzi’s girl last night. Rupert’s usual method of research, research and more research before action looked like it might not have been a terrible idea in this situation, loathe though Ethan was to admit it.  
  
Staring down at Rupert, he asked point-blank, “What do you know about the D’avrynak Tun-dyn that I won’t like? Taking into account my considerable lack of morals, I’d have to say it’s pretty bad if you’re resorting to such extreme measures to distract me.”  
  
He had to give Rupert credit, the man’s face never betrayed his thoughts for a moment. That more than anything else worried Ethan. Rupert was too calm, too collected, too in charge of things. He had a confidence about him that he hadn’t had since their youth in London. But that confidence disturbed more than attracted Ethan as it once had.  
  
Rupert finally stood, resting a heavy hand on Ethan’s shoulder and looking at him levelly. “I think you’ve become a bit too paranoid in your old age, mate.”  
  
Ethan bristled at the comment but held his tongue.  
  
“There’s nothing to worry about, Ethan,” Rupert reassured him. “I just thought it was time I showed my appreciation for all you’ve done. But if you prefer being fucked in back alleys and left aching for release, far be it from me to argue with you.”  
  
Ethan’s gaze flickered down to Rupert’s hand and back up to his eyes, more vibrant than Ethan had seen in years. This was the man he had been trying to revive during all his visits, but now he wasn’t sure how to handle him. Ethan knew how to handle Ripper, and he had learned over the years how to handle Rupert, but this man standing before him now was not quite one or the other. It was a sudden and disturbing realization. Ethan was, in essence, dealing with a complete stranger now. He may have worshipped Chaos, but he also like to have a fairly good understanding of what he was dealing with.  
  
He needed time to think. And they both needed to not be naked for him to do that.  
  
“It’s getting late, Rupert. We really shouldn’t be wasting time indulging our baser desires this close to the end,” he said, reaching up to remove Rupert’s hand from his shoulder. Breaking contact completely, Ethan was surprised not to feel the loss of Rupert’s magic energy as acutely as he had previously. He took a step backward to make a statement as much a test a theory. There was a slight weakening, but he could, for the most part, still feel the power radiating through and from Rupert.  
  
Rupert looked at him blankly for a moment then laughed. “Research over a good fuck? I never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
Rupert’s change in demeanor, his growing power, the interest of Emerétzi’s girl . . . Ethan had a feeling that the sooner they got this over and done with, the better.  
  
To Rupert, he said, “As much as I enjoy sex, Rupert, especially with you, my desire to be myself again takes a bit higher of a priority.”  
  
Shrugging, Rupert replied, “Your loss.” Heading over to the table, he picked up the dagger and started for his room. Over his shoulder he asked, “Is an hour enough time for you to pack up?”  
  
“Should be, why?”  
  
“Well, you’re the one in the hurry to be on,” Rupert said. “It’ll give us enough time to pick up supplies before we make our way to Pompeii to find new lodgings and get settled. The ritual requires some fairly intense preparation. It’s best to be where it is to be performed before we go much farther.”  
  
“You still haven’t told me what the D’avrynak Tun-dyn is?” Ethan pointed out.  
  
“Nothing you probably haven’t seen before,” Rupert answered. “I’ll fill you in on the drive.”  
  
And with that, Rupert disappeared into his room leaving Ethan with the feeling that things had gone from uncertain to very bad indeed.


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

It was good to know the name of the Council still carried enough weight to cut through red tape. Without it, they would have been hard pressed to even see the site they needed at Pompeii, let alone have unrestricted access to it. Even more fortunate was the fact that the Dûor Temple was located on the very outskirts of the city proper; it was far enough away from the main attraction as to not be a tourist draw and guaranteed them privacy for the ritual.   
  
“Seems all that tweed is worth something after all,” Ethan commented as they hiked their way to the remains of the temple.  
  
“An organization does not survive dozens of generations without culling some influence in the process,” Giles said, scanning the area for the rocky outcropping near the temple entrance.  
  
“Now that we’re here, or almost, you going to fill me in on the D’avrynak Tun-dyn or not?” Ethan plied. “You’ve been cagey about it since this morning.”  
  
Giles’ tone was casual when he answered. “Not cagey, there just really isn’t all that much to explain about it. Purification, tribute, sacrifice and the giving of thanks.”  
  
He knew he was inciting Ethan’s curiosity all the more by not giving a direct answer, but it was too early to give him any more than that. They had come too far for Ethan to get an attack of conscience and ruin everything. It was possible he wouldn’t have any qualms whatsoever about the taking of a life to regain what had been taken from him. But in youth he had always drawn the line there. His morals might be loose and ambiguous at best, but life still garnered some respect from him. Giles, however, had always been willing to do what the situation called for. He respected life, but if there was no other way, there was no other way. It was why he had been able to justify killing Dawn if the situation turned dire with Glory. In the end, however, Buffy’s sacrifice rendered the decision moot.  
  
Surprisingly, Ethan didn’t press the point, and they continued on in silence.  
  
But Giles wasn’t in the mood for silence at the moment, so he asked conversationally, “What’s been the worst thing about not having your magic?”   
  
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Giles to do so as well. The look his friend gave him was pure perplexity. “What the hell kind of question is that?”  
  
“Just making conversation.”  
  
“Just making conversation? When have you ever just made conversation?” Ethan was now looking at him as if Giles had grown a second head. “In the catacombs, you wouldn’t say boo. But today you’re Mr. Chatty? I don’t get you, Rupert.”  
  
“It’s too quiet. And I’m curious,” he replied simply, beginning to grow annoyed that there was still no sign of the temple. His Italian was rusty, but he was almost certain the curator had said three kilometers northwest of the city proper. He started walking again, leaving Ethan to follow.  
  
Ethan drew up next to him. “You want to know what the worst thing has been?” he said, his tone not quite bitter. “Not realizing until it was gone just how much a part of me it was.” He was silent for a moment, before continuing. “No, that’s not quite true. The bugger of it all is still being able to sense it, taste and touch it if I want to, and not be able to do a damn thing to hang on to it.”  
  
“So you must really hate me, then,” Giles commented, far from worried by the prospect.   
  
“What, for giving me over to the sadistic wankers who did this? Or for locking your own magic up tight and treating it like some kind of great burden?” Ethan said with less bitterness than Giles expected. “I suppose I should, but I really don’t. Fact is, I’ve always pitied you, mate.”  
  
Giles saw red for a moment. He had never cared much for pity. But then the anger passed. “Isn’t pity a bit beneath you?” Maybe not.   
  
“Touch a nerve, did I?” Ethan chuckled.  
  
The retort died on Giles’ lips when he spied the rock formation. “About bloody time.”  
  
“Can’t blame me, you’re the one who wanted to talk,” Ethan said lightly, leading the way and descending down the stairs on the other side of the rocks.  
  
The Dûor Temple was little more than a shallow, square pit. Broken mosaic tiles lay like patchwork on the dusty rock floor, hinting at the former glory the temple. The bases of the columns were broken sentries ringing the perimeter of the space. In the center lay the marble altar, weathered but still pristine despite age and elements. One meter by two, it was slightly larger than the average sacrifice.  
  
Finding the temple and altar intact were among the last pieces needed before he could perform the ritual. They had picked up all of the key ingredients in Florence before they left. All that remained was locating a woman willing to give herself for something greater. Well, not necessarily willing. Willing was one of those qualifiers, like virgin, that wasn’t actually key to a successful ritual. More for show than anything else.  
  
“So, this is the place, yeah?” Ethan said, brushing some dust off the altar.  
  
“This is the place,” Giles confirmed.  
  
“Doesn’t seem possible that we’re to this point already.”  
  
“Time flies.”  
  
“It does,” Ethan concurred, his tone wary.  
  
Giles walked over to join him, clapping a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “If all goes well, just think, by tomorrow night, you’ll be back to yourself.”  
  
Ethan glanced at him curiously. “Just think,” he said.  
  
The sky was taking on the deep yellow of late afternoon. “Well, there’s not much more we can do here today. I’m feeling peckish. What do you say we go grab dinner and celebrate?”  
  
“Putting the cart before the horse, aren’t you, Rupert?”  
  
“No, I don’t think I am.” He smiled. And going out was would provide the perfect opportunity to track down the last piece needed for the ritual.


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

Isabella DiCarlo was your classic Mediterranean beauty, olive skin and dark eyes, thick black hair that begged to be tangled in, and a coy smile that made a man willing to do almost anything to keep it fixed on him. Plus, she had a weakness for Englishmen.  
  
Which made her easy prey for Ripper’s dark, dangerous charm tempered by Rupert’s respectability. The woman never stood a chance. And Ethan was caught up in it as well until it was nearly too late.  
  
Ethan’s suspicions that his friend was hiding something grew over the course of the day. He’d only half expected answers from Rupert when they found the temple ruins, and wasn’t all that surprised to still be in the dark. Rupert’s desire to go out and celebrate compounded Ethan’s unease, especially when he started to chat up the fair signora. But wine and Rupert’s personable and engaging manner soon had him lulled into enjoying the meal and company, shoving aside his reservations for the moment.  
  
It wasn’t until they were walking down the street to a new bar that Ethan’s doubts began to return.   
  
Isabella was babbling about her position going nowhere as the assistant curator of one of the local museums.  
  
“Trust me, my dear,” Rupert consoled her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, “you are destined for bigger things. I have a feeling you won’t be stymied in academic purgatory for much longer.”  
  
At this Rupert looked at Ethan, eyes glinting malevolently, and Ethan knew with absolute certainty what it was Rupert wasn’t telling him about the ritual.  
  
“Your friend, he does not say much,” Isabella chattered on, oblivious.  
  
“Most of the time you can’t get him to shut up. Isn’t that right, Ethan?” The grin made Ethan’s blood run cold.  
  
“I think you’re doing enough talking for the both of us, mate,” he replied with forced casualness.  
  
He was going to have to play this very carefully. Isabella would be safe enough until the actual ritual, so there wasn’t much harm in leaving her alone with Rupert. The trick would be getting away without Rupert suspecting something. Rupert would infer[something was up, but hopefully his arrogance and belief in the fact that Ethan was harmless would work in Ethan’s favor. Ethan couldn’t do much to stop Rupert at this point. Scaring Isabella off was an option, but Rupert would just seek out someone else. He also had a feeling if he tried to stop things too soon, Emerétzi’s muse would step in and stop him, and he‘d rather not deal with her until he absolutely had to.  
  
Ethan stopped walking, forcing his companions to do the same. “I’m feeling a bit knackered, I think I’ll head back.”  
  
Rupert’s eyes immediately narrowed.  
  
Before he could comment, Isabella spoke up. “Oh no, Ethan, that is ever so sad. Three is so much more pleasurable than two,” she said enticingly.   
  
Ethan couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Too right you are, Isabella. However, I can assure you, the evening will be much more enjoyable if I am not around.”  
  
He could almost hear Rupert’s thoughts. “What the hell are you up to, Ethan?” they said. But aloud, Rupert said, “It’s your loss.”  
  
Ethan nodded in acknowledgement, then took up Isabella’s hand, giving it a quick, faint kiss. “I do apologize, my dear. Perhaps, I can make up for my lack of conversation at a future date.”  
  
With that, Ethan turned on his heel and headed back toward the hotel, very thankful for the fact that Rupert had insisted upon still getting separate rooms.  
  
  
  
  
Ethan sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by scraps of paper and opened books, not one of them containing more than a passing reference to the D’avrynak Tun-dyn. And none even made mention of a connection with the L’ixre Risrex. The only thing Ethan knew for certain was that the ritual involved human sacrifice and, as far as his experience went, that never led to anything good. Rupert going ahead full-tilt without hesitation also spoke volumes that this wasn’t the best idea in the world. And short of taking Rupert down with physical force, which would likely only work with surprise on his side, Ethan could do nothing to prevent things from moving forward.  
  
He picked one of the books up and heaved it against the wall in frustration.  
  
“Blast.”   
  
Useless. He was bloody useless. Which was why he was in this situation to begin with. It was why Rupert was in this situation. He didn’t want to give a damn about what happened to his old friend, but Ethan found he couldn’t just sit back and watch Rupert destroy himself. Even if sitting back and watching was about all he was capable of right now.   
  
Physically, he really was no match for Ripper. Magically, he was a joke. When he came into contact with forces too strong, it left him feeling ill. And with no magic of his own anymore, even trying something as simple as a daily devotional left him out of sorts. So much for faithful, degenerate son. Janus was likely less than pleased with Ethan, if He had time to spare for such things.   
  
Janus. Of course! There was one thing that might work. If Ethan didn’t get smited for trying it.  
  
After fetching the razor from his shaving kit, the room ashtray with complimentary matches, and a couple tapers not being used in tomorrow’s ritual, Ethan cleared a space in the center of the room and set up. he was nervous. This was no longer second nature to him as it had once been. To attempt an Invocation of Assistance was sheer lunacy. But then Ethan had never cared much for sanity, anyway.  
  
He sat cross-legged on the floor, placing the lit candles in a semi-circle around him. He lifted the razor and frowned at it.. A triple bladed comfort shaver really wasn’t the most ideal tool and would hurt like a bugger to use, but it had a sharp cutting edge, and he couldn’t afford to be picky at this point. Ethan winced as the three blades cut across his palm, stinging briefly before the blood welled to the surface, and began its slow fall into the ashtray. How far he had fallen. In his youth, when he’d barely gotten by from one nicked pocket book to the next, he refused to improvise and would only use the best tools and supplies. Most of which he also nicked. , his younger self would laugh himself blind to see what he was resorting to now. A proud and formidable sorcerer reduced to a powerless, desperate man. If it was anyone but himself, Ethan would be laughing too.  
  
When enough blood had collected in the ashtray, he wrapped his hand in a handkerchief to staunch the flow. He lifted up the cheap glass ashtray and watched the viscous fluid move around as he tilted it back and forth. So innocuous looking and yet . . . He shook it off. Now wasn’t the time to reflect.  
  
After dipping the index and middle fingers of his right hand in the blood, Ethan anointed his forehead and wrists. He closed his eyes and focused in on himself, his breathing, the blood flowing through his veins, and blocking out the world around him. When he felt ready, he raised both palms upward he began to recite, “Janus, I offer myself in humble supplication, give my own life’s blood in tribute so that you might grant me guidance. In the name of Chaos I implore, help your wayward son find his way.”   
  
Ethan waited, his nerves fraying thinner with each passing second. Nothing happened. At least he wasn’t feeling ill, that was something. Not necessarily good something. he might have just not done it right. Bugger all. It looked like he was going to have to take Rupert down physically,. So, in other words, he was well and truly fucked.  
  
He started to rise to clean up when the candles winked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. Complete darkness. Not even the faint glow from the electric lights outside marred it.   
  
“Only now in desperation do you think to call on me? Pathetic.”  
  
The words weren’t heard as much as felt, deep, resonating through every fiber.   
  
“Once among my most faithful, you’ve turned your back on me. What cause have I to listen to your plight?”  
  
The fact that he was still standing told Ethan that this wasn’t a completly lost cause. If Janus was truly brassed off, he’d be dead. It didn’t mean Janus would help him. Still, things were starting to look up.


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

Giles breathed deeply as the sun rose. Today was going to be a good day. A very good day. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, and he’d never felt better.  
  
After Ethan left them last night, Giles and Isabella had continued on to the local night spot. Crowded with tourists and twenty to thirty-somethings, it wasn’t his ideal choice of bars, but the drinks were reasonably priced and it helped relax his companion even more. Isabella was a bright girl, but incredibly naïve, seducing her had almost been too simple.  
  
They had gone back to her place for the remainder of the evening. Giles had forgotten what pleasure there was in having a young, vibrant woman in his bed. Young but experienced, and very accommodating. He briefly regretted choosing her for the ritual, if only for the fact that he only got one night with her. A shame really, but it couldn’t be helped.  
  
She finally fell asleep after their third round of fucking. A dozen choice words whispered in her ear guaranteed that she wouldn’t awake until he released her from the spell. Which he wouldn’t. There were far worse ways to die than blissfully asleep after a night of heady passion.  
  
He had slipped out briefly to return to the hotel for a change of clothes, to gather the supplies and pick up the rental car. Giles broke into Ethan’s room and found his friend sound asleep. Ethan always looked so innocent in sleep, harmless. But he was neither, only more harmless than he used to be. Nevertheless, Giles was going to have to keep an eye on the man during the ritual, just in case. Leaving a note and setting Ethan’s alarm, Giles slipped out to go set up the ritual at the temple, making a quick detour to pick up Isabella.  
  
Now everything was ready with nothing more to do but wait for Ethan and watch morning come.  
  
“This ritual better be time specific, Ripper,” Ethan grumbled as he crested the hill. “Because if I’m up this early in the bloody morning for no reason other than a whim of yours, there will be hell to pay.”  
  
Giles grinned. “Honestly, do you think I would subject myself to your pissiness if there was a choice?”  
  
“Honestly?” Ethan smirked. “Yeah, I do. Especially when you set the alarm loud enough to wake the dead back in London.”  
  
“Couldn’t have you sleeping through this.”  
  
“As you’ve so kindly pointed out a number of times in the past few days, I’m not of much use to you, am I?” Ethan stated with a touch of bitterness. “How about I go back the hotel, have a nice lie-in, you do what you need to do, and we’ll meet up later?”  
  
Giles threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Since it is you I’m doing all of this for, makes sense to have you here.”  
  
Ethan looked at him sidelong. “I don’t buy it for a minute, mate. This stopped being about me from the moment you met Emerétzi’s redheaded bint.”  
  
Giles bristled at the comment, his arm dropping away as he faced Ethan, arms crossed across his chest. “The only reason I’m in this in the first place is because of you and your damned L’ixre Risrex.”  
  
“Does this ritual have anything remotely to do with it, or is it just one more in a series of rituals leading somewhere else?”   
  
Ethan was goading him, that much was obvious. But just because he recognized it didn’t mean Giles still didn’t react to it. “And if it is? You want to back out now after coming this far?”  
  
“Maybe I do.” The response was stated baldly, no inflection, as if Ethan really did mean it.  
  
“So you like being weak and pitiful, is that it?” Giles taunted.  
  
“Hardly,” Ethan replied, unruffled. “And I think ‘weak and pitiful’ is a bit extreme as far as descriptions go. I’m just not the same man I used to be. But if I wanted to stop you, Rupert, I would find a way.”   
  
“If?” Giles no longer had any doubt where Ethan stood.   
  
“You do make a good point, we have come this far, kind of silly to turn back now. Besides, I’m not the one getting my hands dirty.” Ethan smiled, but there was no warmth behind the expression. Then he glanced at the sky. “Morning’s a-wasting. Shall we?”  
  
Warily, Giles said, “After you,” and followed Ethan into the temple.  
  
Ethan’s face was unreadable when he saw Isabella on the altar, peacefully asleep wrapped in the red satin sheet from her linen closet. “Somnambulus charm? Considerate,” he commented as he took in the rest of the ritual set up. Then He faced Giles. “Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”  
  
He was making this too easy. , There was nothing to be done for it but continue forward and keep a watchful eye.  
  
Making his way to one of the nearby half-standing pillars, Ethan leaned there. “So, you care to fill me in about what the D’avrynak Tun-dyn is for? Or am I to wait in suspense for the big revelation?”  
  
Giles slipped automatically into lecture mode, which allowed him to answer Ethan’s question while finishing the preparations for the ritual. “The D’avrynak Tun-dyn originated in Sumeria and should only be used when making a weighty request from the petitioner’s deity of choice. It is said the request is almost always granted.”  
  
“Probably because you pay such a high price for it. What self-respecting deity would refuse?” Ethan commented. “Willing to kill for what you want, I say that ranks pretty high the impressive scale.”  
  
Ignoring him, Giles continued while he lit the candles around the altar. “In essence, the ritual not only summons the deity, but binds them to this plane in corporeal form until the summoner is granted that which they desire.”  
  
“And you’re going to ask who, Baale’n-Dûor himself for the L’ixre Risrex and not, say, something you yourself want?”  
  
“There is more than one use for the elixir, so it’s just possible that I am getting something I want,” Giles replied tightly, giving the setup one more look over. Everything was in place, Isabella still soundly asleep. The only thing left was getting Ethan to shut up long enough so he could perform the ritual without interruption. “Am I going to have to gag you, or do you think you can manage to keep your mouth shut for the duration?”  
  
“Mm, why don’t we save those games until later, eh, Ripper?” Ethan purred.  
  
“Ethan.”  
  
“Not another peep. Promise.” Ethan raised his hand as if in pledging.  
  
All things considered, Ethan was acting too flip, taking things too lightly. But he wasn’t interfering. Giles pushed it from his mind. He’d deal with it after.  
  
Retrieving the dagger from his bag beneath the altar, he went to stand over Isabella’s head, throwing Ethan a glare for good measure.  
  
As he raised the dagger above his head, Giles began to chant, “ _Allai imbiik, illoi j’taan. mesoay j’taan Baale’n-Dûor._ ” He then began to circle the table counter-clockwise one and a half times, stopping at Isabella’s feet to repeat the chant, and continuing his journey one and a half more times before coming to rest at her head once more. “ _Hvrynt illoi, j’taan Baale’n-Dûor, j’taan, j’taan. Ukidyi illoi, ukidyi novrei, ukidyi rustahn. J’taan, Baale’n-Dûor, j’taan, j’taan._ ” Giles lifted the blade even farther above his head, waited to three heartbeats and brought it down with rapid speed to pierce Isabella’s heart.  
  
Or so was his intent.  
  
A mere instant before the dagger would have broken Isabella’s skin, Giles flew backward and away from the altar, crashing against one of the broken pillars. He dropped the blade in surprise, vision going momentarily black from the force of hitting the stone.  
  
As he regained his senses, he gazed across the temple to find Ethan now standing between him and the altar.  
  
He smirked. “Sorry, mate. Forgot my own strength.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-six

Not once in all the years Ethan had know him had Rupert looked so utterly flabbergasted. Rage quickly overcame his confusion. 

“You fucking lied to me, you son of a bitch!” Rupert growled as he struggled to rise.

“What, that just now?” Ethan inquired nonchalantly. “Recent development.”

Just like Dorothy and her slippers, he had learned that the answer had been with him the entire time. He’d been conditioned oh so very well by the Initiative. Worse than Pavlov’s bloody dog. Have your magic drained enough times, with the recharge getting greater and greater, and you’re going to eventually believe it’s never coming back. The magic withdrawal was a nice conditioned side effect to keep him reigned in. It took Janus laughing his incorporeal ass off and sheer frustration to get past the mental block that had been so firmly set in place. he was still far from back to normal. That little push he’d given Rupert was a serious drain on his resources. After five years of no training, he would have to rely more on luck than stamina to get through this.

Rupert was making his way unsteadily over to the dagger. Ethan sent a surge of force toward the dagger and sent it skittering into the far corner, way beyond Rupert’s reach.

“I really don’t think you’ll be needing that,” Ethan chastised.

Rupert straightened up, squaring off against Ethan and growing very still. The calm that preceeded the storm. “I knew I should have went ahead without you. You never did have the stomach for this.”

“If by ‘this’ you mean murder, than yeah, you’d be right,” Ethan agreed, unfazed. “Interesting, isn’t it? I have no qualms about selling friends and associates out if it turns me a nice profit, but I won’t kill them. You, on the other hand, are ever stalwart and true right up until the end when you cut off our heads.”

There was a flicker of something across Rupert’s face, but Ethan couldn’t quite say what. Possibly pain, maybe anger. But just as quickly his features were schooled and unreadable again.

“None of you could ever forgive me for that, could you?” Rupert smiled coldly. “Could never forgive me for doing what needed to be done. Not one of you was ever good at dealing with consequences. Thought you could play with fire and not get burnt.”

“Oh, I got burnt many times, mate. I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.” Ethan shook his head. “What we couldn’t forgive, Ripper, was that you barely gave it a second thought before you did it. There might have been another way to stop Eyghon—that charming little redheaded chum of the Slayer’s certainly found one.”

“There was only a short window of time to act before Eyghon was fully manifest,” Rupert replied, sounding almost bored, as if he’d had to explain this one too many times. “If I didn’t kill Randall then, there would have been no stopping Eyghon.”

“So what’s your justification this time?” Ethan asked, motioning behind him to the oblivious Isabella. “You killed your friend to stop a demon. Now you’re killing a girl you barely know to bring a demon here? Rupert, less than a week ago you were still the voice of reason and caution. What happened to you? Where a human sacrifice is called for, the end result is far from good.”

Rupert closed the distance between them, stopping less than a foot away. “Ethan,” he said pityingly, “I did not come this far to turn back now. Since you seemed to have gotten what you wanted from all of this, get the hell out. But you will not stop me from carrying this through.” As he raised his arm, the dagger appeared in his previously empty hand. Lip curling cruelly, he appraised Ethan. “Now, are you going to get out of my way so I can finish this, or am I going to have to make you?”

Ethan didn’t even need to think about it. “Make me.”

As his body crashed forcefully into one of the stone pillars, Ethan decided that a little bit of thought couldn’t have hurt. Fuck but he really should have thought this whole thing through a bit more. Unfortunately, patience and planning had never been his strongest suits. 

“Do be a good boy, Ethan, and stay down. You may have your powers back, but you’re out of practice. You’ve never stood much of a chance against me even in top form,” Rupert mocked.

Ethan had enough power, maybe, for one good sized spell. One spell, one shot to take Rupert down and keep him down so this didn’t blow up in their faces.

Ethan had no more than a second or two to focus as Rupert moved into position once more. With a hint of apology, Ethan said, “Lucente descendente.” 

A brilliant blue-white light descended upon Rupert, surrounding him completely. It hung there for a moment, solid, encasing, then exploded outward. Ethan was unconscious by the time the deafening crack resounded within the temple.


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven

Ash and smoke. Giles felt like he had swallowed a campfire. What in the bloody fuck was going on? There was a very high-pitched ringing in his ears, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he was capable of movement. The only thing he was sure of was that someone was standing over him, watching him. He hated being watched.  
  
He managed to open his eyes finally and was greeted by a halo of red hair and a very displeased looking woman who faintly resembled a girl in a famous painting. The woman’s lips were moving but he couldn’t for the life of him tell what she was saying. He could barely even think, the ringing in his ears was so loud, let alone hear anything over it.   
  
Shaking her head, the woman bent down and placed a hand alongside his head, restoring silence to the world once more.   
  
“Better?” she inquired, sounding very put upon.  
  
“Er, yes, quite. Thank you,” he replied uncertainly. His thoughts were very fuzzy, a jumble of images he couldn’t make heads or tails of.  
  
The woman grabbed his arm and helped pull him to his feet. When she spoke, it was with a tone of complete disappointment. “I thought you were smarter than this, Rupert, to let a rundown sorcerer get the better of you with your back turned.”  
  
She was placing something cold and metal in his hand and guiding him to the center of the room, where a dark haired woman lay sleeping.  
  
“There’s still enough time,” his companion was saying as she led him into position above the sleeping woman’s head. “The ritual is still active. We can finish this now before Ethan awakens.”  
  
“Certainly, yes, of course,” he agreed not knowing why he shouldn’t. Giles automatically moved the dagger into position over the sleeping woman’s heart. His body seemed to have a good idea what it was doing, even if his mind still had a ways to go to catch up. There was a sense of having been interrupted in the middle of something, but the momentum was still there, pushing him forward. He turned to the woman next to him. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I can’t quite remember at the moment.”  
  
“Just drive the blade home, Rupert,” she replied, her hand coming to rest encouragingly on his shoulder.  
  
That seemed to make sense. , he raised the blade up and was about to bring it down with full force when a voice came from the corner of the temple, “I’d take a moment, mate, to consider what I was doing if I were you.”  
  
Giles’ eyes sought out the owner of the voice and found Ethan pushing himself up from the ground with support from one of the broken columns. Ethan? What on earth . . . the jumbled images started to coalesce briefly, but then flew apart. He felt drugged or like he was dreaming, suddenly thrust into the middle of a play he seemed to having a starring role in but with no clue how he got there or what came next.  
  
“Rupert,” the woman beside him said more urgently, “this will all make sense, you just need to finish the ritual.”  
  
He looked at the blade in his hands and then at the woman below him. The dagger was sharp enough that with enough force it could easily slice through flesh and bone. And finally, his brain caught up. Giles hurled the blade across the temple, as far away from himself as possible, and then as rapidly began to back away from the altar and the women there. He had been too dazed to comprehend what he was doing now, but earlier . . . before Ethan stopped him, he had be more than willing to take a life to finish the D’avrynak Tun-dyn. Not just willing, but had accepted it as a matter of course.   
  
He looked at Antonia. “What did you do to me?” But he didn’t need her to answer. She hadn’t done a thing, except maybe nudge him along. It had all been him. Done of his own free will, done because he wanted to do it, done with the same arrogance and desire with which he had pursued and performed the Eyghon ritual.  
  
“We don’t have time to play games. You need to finish the ritual now!” Antonia shouted. She was livid. He could understand her anger, to have come so close to being free and then have it stolen away at the last possible moment.   
  
“It’s over,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, choked with disgust over what he had almost done and who he still was deep down. A bit louder, and with more force, he repeated, “It’s over.”  
  
She made as if to advance on him, but was stopped by Ethan’s voice. “Give it up, girl, he’s no good to you anymore.”  
  
Antonia whirled in a flash of red curls and pale skin, now focusing her ire upon Ethan. “You are supposed to be a useless, empty shell! I was certain of it.”  
  
“Things change. Had a chat with an old friend of mine,” he replied with an easy smile. “Janus says hello, Baale’n.”  
  
“Son of chaos, you’ve outlived your purpose,” she spat as she advanced on Ethan.  
  
“No, my dear,” he held up his hand, “it is you who has outlived yours.” And with that he began to chant, “T’dash, Baale’n, t’dash ayiet. T’dash, t’dash muoit nvayre.”  
  
And quicker than the blink of an eye, she was gone.  
  
Giles stared at the empty space, uncertain as what to make of it. But it wouldn’t do to think too much on that right now. Finally, to give himself something to do, he walked over to Ethan and asked uncertainly, “How are you doing?”  
  
Ethan considered him a moment, then shrugged. “Been better. Been a hell of a lot worse, too. You?”  
  
“I feel like a complete idiot.” Which was barely even the tip of the iceberg.  
  
“So, back to normal then,” Ethan said lightly. But when Giles didn’t respond, he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It won’t do to beat yourself up over this, Rupert. What’s done is done. And you stopped before the worst of it. So where’s the harm?”  
  
“Where’s the harm?” Giles was incredulous. “Look at what I nearly did! Without remorse!” He was disgusted with himself for that fact. It was exactly what had driven him back to the Council three decades earlier after he had murdered Randall.  
  
“Rupert!” Ethan shook him. “You can’t run from this again. I can already see the bloody walls going up again.”  
  
Giles laughed bitterly. “If I don’t run, Ethan, I’m going to destroy myself and everything around me. This,” he motioned to the temple, encompassing the entire adventure with the gesture, “is what happens when I don’t run or lock it down, when I ‘embrace Ripper’.”  
  
“No, this happens because you do run. It builds up until it explodes. It’s a part of you, and it’s about bloody time you accepted that,” Ethan argued, standing toe to toe with him, frustration coloring his voice. “Stop running and be a man for once in your life.”  
  
“Be a man? Christ, do you even listen to yourself when you speak?” Giles countered.  
  
“I’m not saying I’m the shining example of humanity here, but I’ve never tried to hide or run from who I am.”  
  
The bastard was right there. Sighing, Giles held up his hands in defeat. “It’s the only way I know how to deal with it.”   
  
“Suit yourself, Rupert,” Ethan said in disgust. “Just don’t expect anyone to be around the next time to save your ass.” With that, he turned on his heel to walk out of the temple. He paused briefly to say, “You might want to get the girl home before someone misses her,” and continued on.  
  
Giles stood alone in the temple with Isabella still soundly asleep and wondered what he was going to have to do to make amends this time. And quite possibly for the time with Eyghon as well. 


	28. Chapter Twenty-eight

“Oh my god! I can’t believe you found it!” Harmony’s high-pitched squeal of delight cut through the thick oak door separating the reception area from Giles’ office.  
  
After nearly two years, Giles still hadn’t thought up a suitable means of paying Angel back for inflicting the flighty girl upon him. She did her job well, so he couldn’t justifiably fire her. Plus, there was a certain satisfaction in having an unsouled vampire working as his personal secretary in the Watchers’ Council. If he had a grave, Quentin Travers would most definitely be rolling in it.   
  
Harmony squealed again. The girl was going to be the end of him.  
  
A moment later, her voice came on over the intercom. “Giles, there’s a Mr. Charles here to see you,” she said, attempting to sound professional in spite of her excitement.  
  
Charles? He furrowed his brow. The name was vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t aware of an appointment with anyone by that name. Considering his desk with the mountain of paperwork scattered over it, Giles decided he could spare Mr. Charles a few minutes, appointment or no. A break would be more than welcome. And he was damn curious to know what had Harmony so excited.  
  
Charles’ back was to him as Giles entered the front office. The man was perched on the edge of Harmony’s desk, seemingly engrossed in deep conversation with her over something.  
  
“I know I’m supposed to be evil and everything, but I can’t not pay you for this. It’s just too . . .” she squealed once more.  
  
“My dear, I am not a generous man by nature, but I owe you a great debt of thanks. So be a good girl and don’t look a gift . . . unicorn in the mouth,” Ethan’s cultured tenor argued.  
  
Giles mentally slapped himself for not figuring it out sooner. Mr. Charles was Spencer Charles, neé Ethan Rayne. Ethan, whom Giles hadn’t seen since they returned from Italy almost a year ago after the debacle with Baale’n-Dûor.  
  
“But it’s the Rose Quartz Diamond Hoofed Unicorn given to Catherine the Great for her eighth birthday!” Harmony protested again.   
  
“Perhaps,” Ethan’s voice dropped an octave to his more seductive register, “we can work something out if you insist upon an exchange.”  
  
Harmony looked at him blankly a moment before the words registered. Her brow furrowed. “Well, you’re not really my type with the old and all, but—”  
  
“You could do a lot worse,” Giles cut in, startling them both. They looked at him, Harmony wide-eyed and Ethan with his ever-present smirk that for once didn’t reach his eyes.  
  
“Good to see you haven’t buried yourself in tweed. Physically, at least,” Ethan commented, his eyes traveling over Giles from toe to head, noting the jeans and simple button up he wore.   
  
“I should have known you’d show up sooner or later,” Giles said neutrally, trying not to betray the relief he felt at Ethan appearing like this. With the way they had left things in Italy, he’d half expected to never see Ethan again. He should have known better by now, but things had seemed to end on a fairly final note.  
  
“I was in the neighborhood. Couldn’t pass through without a visit, could I?” Ethan arched an inquiring eyebrow.  
  
They stared at each other in silence, until Giles finally broke it saying, “Harmony, clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Charles and I have some catching up to do.”  
  
  
  
Being early afternoon, McGinty’s was fairly empty, so it hadn’t been any trouble procuring a private booth in the back. They had never been ones for small talk, so they sat in uncomfortable silence until their drinks arrived and the server disappeared again.  
  
“So what are you doing in the neighborhood?” Giles inquired.  
  
“Nothing that you need to get your knickers in a twist over,” was Ethan’s easy reply. He took a swallow of his Harp’s, then continued. “I needed to check in to see that Eloise wasn’t robbing me blind at the store, and discovered that Miss Kendall’s thank you gift had arrived.”  
  
“Which you naturally had to deliver in person.”  
  
“Come off it, Ripper, you know I did,” Ethan purred. “Had to see for myself if you were still wallowing in self-loathing or not.”  
  
Giles frowned, studying his drink. “I do not wallow.”  
  
“No, you just hide behind your books and overanalyze until you’ve driven yourself into a nice little depression that causes you to lose all fashion sense,” his friend finished lightly. The corner of Ethan’s mouth lifted, “Though perhaps you’re not quite there yet. Wearing jeans in the hallowed halls of the Watchers Council, whatever would Travers say?”  
  
“Well, Travers is no longer in charge, is he?” Giles couldn’t help smiling as he did every time he was reminded of that fact.  
  
“For shame, Rupert,” Ethan tsked, “have you no respect for the dead?”  
  
“I have respect for those who deserve it,” Giles replied succinctly.  
  
Ethan raised his glass in apparent agreement. “As well it should be.”  
  
After taking drink of his lager, Giles shifted the interrogation back to Ethan. “Things have been going well for you, then?”  
  
“Fit as a fiddle and feeling fine, now that I can fend for myself again.”  
  
“So back to business as usual.”  
  
Ethan shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. I can’t get by as a sorcerer for hire as I once did. Fortunately, the antiquities business is still turning a handsome profit.”  
  
“I figured you would have sold out, cut your ties,” Giles commented, his tone conversational as he took another sip of his beer.   
  
“That was my plan, at first,” Ethan said, making himself comfortable against the back of the booth. “Then I realized I’d grown quite used to having a reliable source of income. And I would have been a fool to give up the contacts I’d established through it.” His tone became searching. “But you already knew all that. Eloise says she enjoys your visits immensely, a break from the tedium, however infrequent.”  
  
Giles wasn’t certain how he was able to keep his composure and brazen out Ethan’s stare, but he did, managing to act like it was nothing at all. He had always half expected Ethan to show up on one of Giles’ visits, but the man never did. Always away on business. That had also helped solidify the idea that Ethan was never going to pop up again. To Ethan he said, “You’re one of the best resources in the city for mystical hard-to-finds, it wouldn’t be very smart to overlook your store.”  
  
Ethan very nearly choked on his beer. “Like you don’t have half a dozen contacts just as good, possibly better.” Then he grinned as he said, “Admit it, mate, you missed me.”  
  
“As much as I would miss a toothache,” Giles replied, not missing a beat. It was, of course, an outright lie, but it wouldn’t do to let Ethan think otherwise. He’d never hear the end of it. The truth was, until they’d gone their separate ways again, Giles hadn’t realized just how much he had missed having Ethan around, period. Nearly being consumed by his darker side and setting loose Baale’n aside, it had been the most excitement he’d had in far too long. And fun, though it had taken him the better part of the year to admit it.  
  
Ethan just sat there, smirking knowingly.  
  
“You’re infuriating, you know that?” Giles said.  
  
“Part of my charm,” Ethan stated. “And it has never once failed to work on you.”  
  
Giles really wished his friend didn’t know him so well. Deciding that wisest action was an attempt at changing the subject, he flagged down the server. Then to Ethan he said, “Next round’s on you.”  
  
  
  
To the casual observer it would appear that they were two old friends catching up over a few drinks. Friends, Giles realized, was something they had never been. It was too weak of a word and didn’t even come remotely to the relationship they shared. Inseparable was a good word, more all encompassing. Even when they were the bitterest of enemies, their paths still crossed. Ethan kept showing up in his life even when Giles least wanted him there. No, that wasn’t quite true. A small part of Giles had always been glad when Ethan showed up.   
  
They had spent hours at McGinty’s over countless pints talking with an ease they hadn’t had since their youth, if even then. It was something he had thought they’d been working to that night in Sunnydale. Waking up as Fyarl the next morning had quashed any notion of that. But now . . .  
  
“If I wake up a demon tomorrow, you will be a dead man, Rayne,” he threatened Ethan as they walked back to his flat.  
  
“Believe it or not, Ripper, I can learn from my mistakes,” Ethan replied, sounding more sober than either of them at that point. “Plus, even at your most insufferable, you’re still more fun than a bumbling Fyarl. Only reason I chose it is because I thought it’d give you the best chance against the Initiative.”  
  
Giles stopped in his tracks, even though Ethan kept walking. “You meant for them to capture me?”  
  
Ethan turned around and looked at Giles as if he were an idiot. “Why else did you think I did it? I knew you wouldn’t take anything I said seriously unless you saw it first hand.”  
  
“I always wondered,” Giles murmured to himself.  
  
“Had a seventy-two hour duration,” Ethan said, walking back toward him. “Figured that would give you an out when they did get a hold of you. Of course, that was before I knew they liked playing with humans as well.”  
  
They were standing nearly toe to toe when Giles asked, “So it wasn’t permanent?”  
  
“You’re too fine a specimen of humanity to waste like that.” Ethan smirked. “Had to reverse it when I did because your Slayer would have had my head otherwise.”  
  
“You told her to kill me!”  
  
“Love your skin, Ripper, but I love mine much more,” Ethan said unruffled. “Besides, I made certain there wasn’t any silver in the room in case things went too far south. As they most naturally did.”  
  
“I was listening that night, you know,” Giles said with complete honesty.   
  
“Yeah, well, I had to be sure you got the message.” Then he added, not quite meeting Giles’ eyes, “And I may have done it for a spot of revenge, too.”  
  
That made Giles smile. “See, now that’s why I thought you did it.”  
  
“Now, I can’t be too predictable, can I?” Ethan smiled faintly in return and started walking again.  
  
Shrugging, Giles followed after.  
  
  
  
They didn’t speak again until Giles was busy unlocking the door to his flat. He felt Ethan watching him. Stopping with his key half turned, he turned and regarded his friend. “What?”  
  
Ethan was quiet for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he studied Giles. “I honestly don’t know what to say to you anymore. It’s the strangest thing,” he said, frowning.  
  
“What do you mean, you don’t know what to say? Ethan, talking is more natural than breathing to you,” Giles pointed out, his tone light. “The only time you shut up for more than five minutes at a time is when your mouth is otherwise occupied.”   
  
The smirk was more of an automatic, conditioned response than anything genuine. “I mean it, there’s nothing left to say that hasn’t been said.” He considered the opposite wall. “I didn’t realize until tonight, but I think we finally settled things back in Italy. It hardly seems seem possible after how many years. And yet . . .”  
  
To say Giles was stunned was an understatement. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” he said slowly.  
  
“I think what I’m getting at,” Ethan said, not sounding entirely certain of himself, “is that this,” he motioned between them, “is finally over.”  
  
Finally, Giles found his voice. “If that’s the case, then why in the hell are you here?”  
  
“Habit.”  
  
“Habit?” Giles felt his blood rise.  
  
Ethan shrugged noncommittally.  
  
Giles had Ethan pinned to the wall before his brain fully processed his intent to act. But such acts were driven by instinct and reflex more so than any rational process. “Over means you don’t keep bloody showing up every time I start believing that this time you are gone for good,” Giles growled in frustration. “Over means that if we pass each other on the street, a simple wave or ‘hello’ will suffice. Over means that you don’t still get under my skin. Over means—fuck you, Ethan!” He gave up, gave in, leaned in and took Ethan’s mouth by force. Delving in, he poured out every ounce of frustration and feeling into the simple, primal possession. He pressed close, trying to feel every hard plane of Ethan’s body, forcing the other man to feel every inch of him that he could. Giles moved his mouth to rest over Ethan’s ear and whispered harshly, “Don’t you ever dare tell me this is over. Because this doesn’t end.”  
  
“Good to finally know where you stand after all these years,” Ethan chuckled richly.  
  
Giles drew back far enough to look at him. Sure enough, Ethan’s dark eyes were dancing in amusement. “You’re completely without remorse!”  
  
“Are you really that surprised? How long have you known me, Ripper?”   
  
He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. What was the point? “Was any of it true?” he asked, uncertain as what to make of it all.   
  
“Pretty much everything up to the being over bit,” Ethan said soberly. “Because over won’t happen until one of us is dead. But settled, yeah.”  
  
“I don’t know why I even bother,” Giles said, backing away, intent on getting into the apartment before Ethan tried anything else.  
  
Ethan’s hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him back. “You bother,” Ethan said, “because you can’t help yourself. And neither can I.”   
  
The kiss, this time initiated by Ethan, was more controlled but just as demanding as the previous one. Giles gave himself over to Ethan’s artistry—the man had a talent with his mouth that went well beyond its ability to talk him out of almost any situation. Pressing in, Giles rocked his hips against Ethan’s, seeking friction for an erection that was beginning to demand attention. He was pleased to find Ethan just as hard.  
  
It took considerable effort, but Giles finally managed to break the kiss. “Can we at least take this inside the apartment?”  
  
“Ah, Rupert,” Ethan sighed dramatically, “there was a time you would have said to hell with it all and sucked me off in the hall.”  
  
“And what makes you think I’ll be blowing you at all?”  
  
Ethan grinned. “Because you want to. And I’m telling you to.”  
  
“You’re telling me?” Giles said with a laugh. “I think you’ve forgotten how things work here.”  
  
“No, I haven’t forgotten.”  
  
“And you’re still telling me.”  
  
“Yes.” Then his voice dropping to rumble silky and smooth, Ethan said, “And you love it.”  
  
“Being bossed around by you? Hardly.” Inwardly, Giles cursed the man. It would be nice, just once, for Ethan not to be right about him. Then again, he rather liked that Ethan knew him so well.  
  
Ethan released him, then, sounding put-upon, said, “If your sense of decency insists upon it, I suppose we can take this inside.”  
  
Not bothering to comment, Giles finished unlocking the door and pushed it open, motioning Ethan inside. “After you.”  
  
Ethan’s eyebrow arched in consideration, then he pushed off the wall and walked past Giles into the flat. Giles took his time, shutting and locking the door after he entered, doing everything he could to draw things out. He wanted nothing more than to throw Ethan against the nearest wall and pick up where they’d left off in the hallway. But he needed to show some restraint, otherwise Ethan would be completely insufferable.  
  
Giles turned finally to find Ethan blocking his path, arms crossed, waiting impatiently. “You do know how to try one’s patience, Rupert.”  
  
They stood there for a moment, neither one moving, waiting for the other to make the first move. Giles’ muscles tensed in anticipation, reading to attack or counter as the case may be. The corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. It was the final push Giles needed.  
  
But Ethan was quicker, shoving Giles back against the door, trapping him there as he resumed the earlier duel of their mouths. Giles relaxed against the door, giving himself over to Ethan, letting the other man take and guide things. It was never an easy thing to do, but there was nothing quite as exhilarating or terrifying as giving control to Ethan.  
  
Ethan pulled away slightly as his hands moved over Giles’ shoulders, shoving his jacket off to fall unheeded to the floor. “You are far too easy, Ripper.”  
  
Giles chuckled as his hands tugged Ethan’s shirt out so they could slip under, fingers digging into hot familiar flesh to pull Ethan closer. “Never as easy as you, Ethan,.”  
  
Any retort was swallowed as Giles reclaimed Ethan’s mouth.  
  
Buttons were lost in eagerness as first Giles’ then Ethan’s shirt gave away, allowing for the unhindered contact of bare, heated skin.  
  
Ethan nipped playfully at his ear, tongue teasing the earring he wore more often than not these days. “I’m going to give you a choice, Rupert. You can either blow me, putting that wonderful mouth of yours to the best possible use. Or, you can let me fuck you.” His hand slipped between them to stroke promisingly along Giles’ erection. “And rest assured, whichever you decide, I’ll more than make it worth your while.”  
  
And he would, too. But both choices forced Giles to concede something to Ethan, to admit out loud what he wanted. For the most part, when they fucked, things just went the way they did. There was no asking and no telling, unless Ripper was feeling particularly controlling. Perhaps it was because stating things out loud made them more real. And real was the last thing Giles had wanted to acknowledge about their encounters over the years since London.   
  
“Fuck me,” Giles breathed at last. “I want you to fuck me, Ethan.”  
  
“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” He felt Ethan smile. “So are you going to be a good host and show me where our room is here, or am I going to have to muddle it out for myself?”  
  
Giles grumbled, “Because my flat is ever so large.” He pushed Ethan to the side as he led the way.  
  
After switching on the light, Giles stood in the middle of his bedroom, thinking. This wasn’t quite the evening he planned, but . . . In all honesty, he had really thought Ethan was out of his life for good, a prospect that had made him more sad than anything else. And now . . .  
  
Ethan was behind him, pressing close, his right hand wrapping around to rest on Giles’ bare stomach. Chin perching on Giles’ shoulder, Ethan said quietly, “You never stop anymore, do you? Thinking. Analyzing. Don’t you ever let go even for a moment, Rupert?”  
  
“What can I say? It’s like breathing,” Giles admitted, reveling in the oddly comforting embrace, Ethan’s fingers stroking lightly and mindlessly. “I don’t even notice that I’m doing it most of the time.” The touch was soothing and . . . tender? Voice not quite certain, he asked, “What are you doing?”  
  
“Savoring,” was the almost inaudible reply.  
  
“What happened to fucking me?”  
  
Ethan’s hand moved down slowly, unfastening the catch on Giles’ slacks and slipping inside, under the waistband of his shorts. His fingers wrapped around Giles’ cock loose and undemanding as they began to stroke languidly.. “I told you, Ripper, I’m savoring.” Ethan’s voice became amused. “And you’re always complaining that I’m the impatient one. For shame.”  
  
“Why?” Giles could only come up with questions at the moment. Questions were safe.  
  
“Because I feel like it,” Ethan said simply. “Do yourself a favor, mate. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop talking. Just stop.”  
  
“This isn’t how we do this,” Giles protested even as he relaxed against Ethan.  
  
Ethan’s mouth worked along his neck, lips alternating with teeth and tongue, varying pressure and sensation as he continued to lazily stroke Giles’ cock. “No, it isn’t. But I’m in the mood for something other than our rough, angry, frenzied fucks. Though I wouldn’t rule out rough just yet.” For emphasis, his teeth clamped down on the juncture between Giles’ neck and shoulder, hand clamping viselike around Giles’ shaft.   
  
Giles jerked at the contact, a pleasurable shiver washing over him.  
  
Then Ethan was suddenly gone, leaving Giles cold at the loss of contact. He turned in confusion to find Ethan standing about a foot away.  
  
“Undress,” was all he said, not moving or saying another word.  
  
Giles waited, but when Ethan just stood there, patiently waiting on him, he began to undress. And he had never felt more self-conscious in his life. He suddenly felt every ounce of weight middle age had added to his frame, was aware of every grey hair and how much different he was from the stream-lined predator he had been in his youth. It wasn’t something that had bothered him before now. Most likely because when they normally got together things happened quickly and through a haze of alcohol and lust. He tried not to make his discomfort obvious as he stood there naked, finally, Ethan’s eyes slowly trailing over him.   
  
The corners of Ethan’s mouth curled upward, but there was no cruelty in the act. He circled around Giles. “It may not be as obvious as it once was, but you’re still built for the hunt. You’re a born fighter, Ripper. Your body may be out of practice, but it remembers,” he said appraisingly, his fingers tracing the muscles in Giles’ back. “You used to be so comfortable in this skin, when did you stop?”  
  
“When I grew up.” Those five years of freedom he’d spent with Ethan and the others, naked had been his natural state. If he wasn’t naked, then he had dressed in leather or well-worn jeans that fit him like a second skin. He’d once been proud of his body. He’d once been proud of many things. Last year in Italy, he had touched that part of himself again and felt alive for the first time in years. It had felt good to no longer hold back or watch himself. He had tried to find a balance when he returned, but it wasn’t easy and left him more uncertain than ever before. Giles could do extremes, but finding middle ground with himself was next to impossible.  
  
Ethan was standing in front of him once more, a curious look in his dark eyes as his fingers rested, not-quite-touching over the center of Giles’ chest. “You’ve been practicing,” he said with surprise.  
  
Giles nodded. “Trying to would be more accurate. But, yes, I decided to take your advice and try something other than repression this time around.”  
  
Ethan’s eyebrow quirked upward, but otherwise he said nothing as he stepped away to remove his own clothing. Unlike Giles, he had no need to worry about the effects of age, his body was still lean with nothing to spare. It wasn’t the body of a twenty year old, but it wasn’t exactly the body of a man who was fifty-plus either.  
  
“Still sunbathing in the nude, I see,” Giles commented, observing the light golden tone that was uninterrupted on the entirety of Ethan’s frame.  
  
“I have no shame and plenty of vanity to spare. Are you really surprised?” Ethan grinned. Then he nodded toward the bed. “Sit.”  
  
Giles sat. A moment later, Ethan dropped between his legs.   
  
“Do you know what it is I like best about blowing you, Rupert?” he inquired, his right hand grazing over Giles’ returning erection. He didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s the only time you are ever entirely at my mercy.”  
  
Ethan’s tongue darted out, the tip flicking over the top of Giles’ cock to catch the bit of precum that had escaped. Giles felt a shiver of pure pleasure radiate outward from the tiny point of contact, hot, slick, with the barest hint of friction from taste buds. Only when he felt his lungs burning did he realize that he was waiting for Ethan to continue, but Ethan just sat there, watching him with a small, satisfied smirk.  
  
“Christ, I barely even have to touch you,” he said, before blowing lightly where his tongue had just ventured.  
  
Giles’ cock twitched in response, but it was the only response he was capable of at the moment. Ethan was right, he didn’t even have to touch Giles. Just sitting there in close proximity to Ethan was enough to rob Giles of speech. Perhaps it was anticipation. Perhaps it was knowing what Ethan could do and how it all felt. Or perhaps it was something about the night that having Ethan sitting between his legs was enough to push Giles to the edge.  
  
“You going to sit there all night staring at me?” Giles managed to find his voice after all, to push Ethan to do something and push away his own thoughts. He really did think too much.  
  
Ethan chuckled. “Impatience never did anyone any good.” His free hand pushed lightly on Giles’ stomach. “Lay back and enjoy, Ripper. And, impossible though it may be, try not to think about anything. Even what a trying arse I might be.”  
  
Giles couldn’t help but smile as he obeyed. It was amazing how incredibly comfortable all of this was. Further observation fled as Ethan nudged his legs further apart, mouth hot and slick as it set about mapping the object of aching flesh before him. Gentle and unhurried, there was a pattern to it all that soothed Giles and made his eyes drift closed in contentment.  
  
He was aware of Ethan moving downward, head, shaft, balls, a little tongue alternating with soft lips. Farther down, over the perineum and—wet, insistent teasing at the tight pucker of muscle.  
  
“Fuck, Ethan.” His leg muscles quivered as he tried not to lose himself to the rare sensation as Ethan worried the entrance to his ass with torturous intent.  
  
He pushed Giles’ legs a little wider, cradling Giles’ balls off to the side as he worked, slowly gaining entrance, building Giles to release by subtle degrees.  
  
Cock untouched the entire time, Giles cried out as Ethan’s mouth moved upward again and swallowed him whole. Slick, smooth and familiar. Ethan’s mouth was and always had been its own kind of heaven and hell, building Giles up and bringing him back down to start the journey all over again. He lay in darkness, just feeling, as time lost all meaning in sensation.  
  
When Ethan finally granted him climax, it was sudden and hard, his body shuddering as he spent himself with a silent cry.  
  
Giles lay on the bed, spent and bonelessly content as Ethan brought him down, pulling back by gradual degrees. The loss of Ethan’s hot mouth was gradual enough that when the cool air of the room made contact with the sensitive skin of his shaft, it wasn’t a complete jarring shock as it might have been.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled, contentedly floating along in post-orgasmic bliss. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes as Ethan stood up.  
  
“When it renders you completely defenseless, how can I not,” Ethan said, eyes dancing wickedly. “And I said earlier I’d make it worth your while.”  
  
“Mhm,” Giles said, deciding that coherent speech took too much effort at the moment.  
  
A sharp, stinging slap landed on his upper thigh, forcing his eyes to fly open again.  
  
“No sleep for you just yet, Rupert.”  
  
Giles let his eyes drift closed. “I don’t know, seems like a good plan to me.”  
  
Ethan smirked. “Now you know how I used to feel.”  
  
“You never told me my skills were that good,” Giles chuckled as he sat up. Not that Ethan had needed to bring much skill into play tonight. “I might be able to stay awake if things continue to be this enlightening.”  
  
“Ha bloody ha.”  
  
Ripper grinned a brief instant before he struck, grabbing Ethan’s wrist and pulling him down onto the bed and moving to straddle him in one fluid motion.  
  
“Remember, Ethan, you can only push me so far before I start to push back.” He bared his teeth as he bent down to scent along Ethan’s neck, enjoying the insistent press of Ethan’s erection against his stomach.  
  
“Christ, it’s about time you made a showing. I thought I was going to have to do everything tonight,” Ethan said.  
  
Giles laughed. “And you seem so miserable about that fact.”  
  
“Yes, well . . .” Ethan grumbled.  
  
Lowering his head, Giles kissed Ethan, reveling in the taste of himself on the other man. It was gentler than he’d intended. Somewhere in mid-act his brain had switched away from aggression. He took his time and didn’t allow Ethan to change the pace. It was nice to . . . savor. Savor was a good word.  
  
One of Ethan’s hands worked free and cradled the back of Giles’ head, lightly holding him in place. There was a warm sort of affection to the gesture that gave Giles a happy feeling he hadn’t ever expected.  
  
Ethan’s dark eyes were intense, searching when Giles pulled back to look down at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
Ethan shrugged a shoulder, his hand still resting loosely on Giles’ neck. “It’s just different is all. Hasn’t been like this for quite awhile.”  
  
Giles smiled sadly as he remembered lazy late mornings and afternoons they had spent exploring one another, no aggression, no games, just curiosity and pleasure. And perhaps something that wasn’t lust alone.  
  
“Yeah,” Giles very nearly whispered.  
  
Ethan tugged him down and reinitiated the gradual, explorative kiss they had started. It was . . . good. It was difficult to say which of them started it, but they rolled until Giles found himself on the bed beneath Ethan. His left leg tangled back around Ethan, pulling the man closer, rocking his hips slightly to vary the pressure on Ethan’s cock. Giles’ own was just beginning to return to life, though it still wasn’t taking more than a cursory interest in things.  
  
“You don’t have to let me fuck you,” Ethan told him.   
  
Giles couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just that last time you didn’t even bother asking and now, well,” he tried to explain, the smile not going away.  
  
“So you’re saying that I amuse you?” Ethan didn’t sound at all wounded by the prospect. Giles shrugged. “I suppose there are worse sentiments,” he acknowledged with mock disgruntlement.   
  
Further discussion was lost as their mouths met again and they adjusted to each other, Ethan settling quite comfortably between Giles’ legs. For his part, Giles, fumbled blindly at his nightstand, finally managing to get the drawer open.  
  
Ethan chuckled. “Need help there?”  
  
“If you’d be so kind,” Giles replied shortly.  
  
Leaning over, Ethan quickly retrieved the lubricant Giles had been after. “My, aren’t we a well trained Watcher, prepared for everything.”  
  
“You’re a bloody comedian. Give it to us, then.”  
  
“No need to get grouchy, Rupert.”  
  
“Well, if you didn’t insist on being an ass most of the time...”  
  
“Now this is normal,” Ethan said, grinning as he handed Giles the tube.  
  
The gel was cool to the touch, and, going by Ethan’s sharp intake of breath, even colder on.  
  
“Jesus, Rupert, that was uncalled for.” Ethan’s chastisement was undermined by the slight catch in his voice as Giles began to steadily stroke his shaft.  
  
“Don’t be such a pansy, Ethan,” he said lightly.  
  
“Prat,” Ethan grumbled, nudging Giles’ legs a bit wider as his fingers sought, located, and two pressed remorselessly past the tight ring of muscle.  
  
It was Giles’ turn to cry out. “Bloody, Christ.”  
  
“Pay back’s a bitch, isn’t it?”   
  
Instead of words, Giles chose to attack with his mouth as Ethan made quick work stretching him.  
  
Then Ethan’s fingers were gone, quickly replaced by the cool, slick head of his cock as it pressed insistently inside. He stopped moving when he was fully sheathed, and they both lay there, breathing, waiting.  
  
“Any idea why we don’t do this more often?” Giles asked, enjoying having Ethan inside him once again.  
  
“No bloody clue,” Ethan sighed against his neck. “You feel fucking amazing.”  
  
Ethan drew back slowly before driving back in, cutting off Giles’ smart reply before he had a chance to make it. But at the moment, there were better things to do besides talk.  
  
  
  
Giles lay awake, staring into the darkness, trying to quiet his thoughts by trying to define the ceiling above him.  
  
Grumbling beside him, Giles felt Ethan sit up and peer down at him in the darkness. “You never bloody stop, do you?”  
  
“You never shut up, and I never stop thinking,” Giles said lightly. “No wonder we get along so well.”  
  
“Good to know your sense of humor’s still intact.” Then after a pause, Ethan asked, “So what’s going on?”  
  
Giles decided there was no reason to be evasive. “I’m trying to figure out where we go from here.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Ethan sighed. “Because there’s no point.”  
  
“In us?”  
  
“In trying to define things. We are what we are and have what we have. Why go beyond that?”  
  
It was Giles’ turn to sigh. “Well, for one, I’m sick of waiting for you to show up again and not knowing when or if it will happen.”   
  
“Nothing says you can’t come looking for me,” Ethan pointed out.  
  
“Tried that, didn’t I?” Giles said tersely. “Why else do you think I kept going to your shop.”  
  
“You said it was because I was a good resource.”  
  
“And you actually believed that?” Giles’ short laugh was automatic.  
  
Unfazed, Ethan said, “No, I know better.”  
  
“Exactly.”   
  
“So what are you getting at? You want to set up house, keep an eye on me?” Ethan said mockingly.  
  
Giles snorted. “We’d bloody well kill each other.” Then soberly he said, “What I’m getting at is that I’d like to have some say in things, not just wait on you.”  
  
Ethan didn’t say anything for a long while, the silence settled around them like a dead weight. Finally, still quiet, he said, “It’s the only way I can guarantee you won’t run off on me again. If I do all the coming and going, you can’t very well leave, can you?”  
  
He should have figured it out sooner, and yet it was still news to Giles. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” He could almost see Ethan shrugging the matter off.   
  
“Apparently, it does.”  
  
Ethan sighed. “Have it your way.”  
  
After a moment, Giles sat up, turned on the light and looked at Ethan, really looked at him. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? One of us trying, and the other too stubborn to meet him halfway.”  
  
Avoiding his eyes, Ethan said, “A bit too late to start learning new tricks, don’t you think?”  
  
“No, it’s too late for us to keep playing these games.” Giles paused. This wasn’t easy, but hopefully it would be worth it.  
  
“The games are who we are, Rupert.”  
  
Giles shook his head. “They’re a safety net, Ethan.”   
  
That made Ethan look at him again. “What are you getting at?”  
  
“That we might want to stop playing each other, and instead try and make this thing between us into something.”  
  
“You saying you want to go steady?” Ethan joked.  
  
Giles frowned. “I’m trying to be serious here and all you can do is bloody joke.”  
  
“It’s what I do.”  
  
“I know,” Giles admitted, then sighed. “Forget it. I don’t even know what I was thinking.” He turned the light off and lay back down to stare at the ceiling.  
  
Ethan leaned over him and turned back on the light, staring down at him, a curious look on his face.  
  
“In all seriousness, what you’re saying is that you’d like this to be something more than the occasional get-together?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Giles said neutrally.  
  
“I can’t say that I haven’t considered it,” Ethan admitted. “But we’d likely kill each other if we got together more than once every year or so.”  
  
“That’s always a possibility.” Giles couldn’t fight back the smile. “Though it’s quite likely we might not.”  
  
“True,” Ethan agreed. “It might not hurt to give it a shot.”  
  
“Might not.”  
  
Ethan made a non-committal noise and shut off the light before laying back down.  
  
Giles thought he was going to drift off to sleep without another word. But being Ethan, he should have known better.  
  
“We can try,” Ethan said in the darkness. “Just don’t expect me to help you pick out curtains or anything.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
It was difficult not to smile as they lay there in the dark, together but somewhat apart. Whatever the outcome, it would be better than walling himself off and being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing of note. It appears that I originally posted the last chapter of this on February 13, 2006. So, happy eighth birthday, fic!


End file.
